


The Fate's Illusion

by NotEnoughAnswers



Series: Time-Turner Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 200,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEnoughAnswers/pseuds/NotEnoughAnswers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Dancing With Time.</i> She had managed to assemble the pieces of her life into what appeared to be a pleasant pattern. But she, of all people, should have known that appearances are very rarely trustworthy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Trying to Flee

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net, February 2016.

Of all the idiotic things she had done in her life, this had to top them all. She'd become so accustomed to victory that she had completely dismissed the possibility of failure.

" _Tom!"_ she yelled as she skidded down the pitch-black corridor, casting every spell she could think of. But nothing, it seemed, could illuminate the stifling darkness, and she was left blind.

Suddenly she slammed into someone with such force that she was winded, gasping for air as her eyes struggled to adjust.

"Well, well, well, what do we have _here_?" a sneering female voice crowed.

Danielle gulped and whirled around, attempting to run, but a pair of strong hands reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "My Lord!" the woman shouted. "Come have a look at this!" Danielle's wand was wrested out of her hand and she was thrown to the ground, feeling a wave of nausea as she landed hard on her stomach.

She lay on the floor for what felt like ages, silently cursing herself for the mess she had gotten herself and Tom into. He would search for her when he realized that she wasn't going to come back. Danielle knew she had to take the blame this time—everything had been her idea.

But now she had an added layer of guilt as well as fear. It wasn't just her who would suffer—it wasn't just her who would be forced to pay the price for her extreme stupidity.

This time, she wasn't the only one in danger.


	2. Starting Anew Again

_**August 31, 1945** _

Two very important things happened in the summer of 1945: the Muggle war officially ended, and Alyssa MacDougal bought her wedding dress.

One of those things was slightly more important than the other, eighteen-year-old Danielle Bailey thought dryly as she watched her friend try on dress after dress, determined to find the perfect one. At least in Alyssa's mind.

They'd spent the better part of the morning at Twilfitt and Tattings while Alyssa agonized over the dresses. Danielle had to admit that most of the dresses didn't suit her tiny figure—or rather, most of them clashed horribly with her bright red hair.

"So, what do you think?" Alyssa asked as she twirled around, displaying a tightly-fitted cream-coloured gown.

Next to Danielle, their other friend Georgina Taylor let out an exaggerated sigh. "Honestly, I think it looks the same as the other hundred dresses you've tried," she said, causing Danielle to grin at her bluntness. "Now, hurry up so we can go to Fortescue's."

Seeing she would get no help from Georgina, Alyssa turned to Danielle, giving her a pleading look. "Lyssa, the wedding isn't for another three months," Danielle said, trying to be diplomatic. "You have lots of time to pick out a dress."

The petite redhead threw up her arms in despair. "But I want to get this _over_ with!" she cried dramatically as Georgina rolled her eyes. "If I don't make a decision soon, Mother is going to buy the dress, and I'll look like I'm fifty years old!"

"You're eighteen. _Nothing_ is going to make you look like you're fifty years old," Georgina replied firmly. "If anything, that dress makes you look like you're fifteen. Now, if you want my honest opinion, I liked the first dress you tried on."

"But that one was too long!" Alyssa said, digging through the discarded pile of dresses that nearly reached her waist. "I'll look ridiculous."

"At least there'll be some excitement at the wedding, then," Georgina said impatiently. "Listen, I'm absolutely starving. D'you mind if I go get something to eat before I faint right here?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Alyssa said gloomily. She sighed and stared down at the pile of rejected dresses.

"Want to come along, Clara?" Georgina asked. Danielle was about to decline, but the image of a dripping ice-cream cone popped into her mind and her stomach growled in spite of herself.

"I think I will," she said, casting an apologetic glance at Alyssa. "Sorry."

Grinning in victory, Georgina grabbed Danielle by the arm and began to pull her out of the store, but just as they reached the door Alyssa called, "Wait! I'll come with you. I like this dress anyway."

Georgina and Danielle shared a glance. "Are you sure, Lyssa?" Danielle asked as her friend disappeared into the changing-room.

"Yes, I'm sure," Alyssa said firmly. She came back out a minute later in her regular clothes and carrying the cream dress under one arm. "I have to make a decision now, or else I'll be here forever."

"Funny, it already feels like we've been here forever," Georgina said cheerfully. When Alyssa glared at her, she grinned. "I'm just teasing you."

Danielle thought back to when Georgina had first begun attending Hogwarts—the two girls had strongly disliked each other at first, but in the year that Danielle had been absent since she'd time-traveled ahead, she assumed something had happened to change their animosity into friendship. Sometimes she almost felt left out when they referenced events or conversations they'd had when she'd been gone, to the extent she almost wished she'd been present that year. But it was far too late to change that now. Only Georgina knew the real reason why she had disappeared; Alyssa thought that she had been off doing something for Dumbledore.

When Alyssa had paid for the dress, she walked over to them, smiling smugly, and they stepped out of the quiet darkness of the shop into bright sunlight and crowds. Diagon Alley was bustling with students shopping for last-minute school supplies. The three girls expertly wove around the clusters of witches and wizards up the road to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, a favourite among Hogwarts students. As they passed Flourish & Blotts, Danielle couldn't help but glance inside and caught a glimpse of Irvin Aldwinkle, her old manager. She'd worked at the bookstore the previous summer (or, rather, two summers ago, she supposed) and often missed her old job.

Thinking about jobs made her heart pound in trepidation for starting her new job at the Department of Mysteries the next day. She'd been worrying about it all summer, and now that the day was looming ahead made her feel even worse. But she forced herself to push the anxiety to the back of her mind: she still had twenty hours to go before she needed to be at the Ministry.

Unsurprisingly, the shop was crowded with children clamouring for a treat, but after waiting in line for an unreasonable amount of time, they finally managed to get their ice-cream and sat down at a table on the terrace outside, watching the crowds pass by.

"So, are you excited to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow?" Alyssa asked Georgina. "You'll be Head Girl!"

Georgina made a face. "You know, I kind of wish I hadn't said yes to going back. Not only will I be stuck with Riddle," she nodded at Danielle, who grimaced, "I won't be able to see Skender."

Alyssa gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Georgina had spent the majority of the summer in Albania visiting her boyfriend and his family, and although she had just returned to London, Danielle could already tell she missed him greatly. She didn't like to think about the fact she would come uncomfortably close to being in Georgina's situation, as Tom was leaving for Hogwarts and she would be stuck in London. Of course they would write letters back and forth, but as she thought about it Danielle felt an ache of loneliness stab at her heart, and he hadn't even left yet.

Despite all that, she'd still managed to have a blissful summer. In fact, she didn't think she'd ever been so happy in her life. A part of her worried that it would end too soon, but another part just felt that she'd been through enough and that she deserved some happiness.

At the beginning of the holidays, Danielle had bought a flat with the money Holstone had given her in Diagon Alley, not far from the Leaky Cauldron. At first, she'd found it very odd that she was living with Tom, but she'd quickly learned to get used to it. Of course, they'd had their share of arguments and stalking out of the flat, but she thought that they'd managed quite nicely, all things considered.

"How's Dylan doing?" Danielle asked Alyssa to take her mind off of what would transpire the next day.

Her friend shrugged. "Still moaning over Felicity. I can't believe he hasn't told her about us yet. They've been involved for two and a half years."

"Maybe he wants to protect her," Georgina said logically. "After all, I don't think he would tell her unless he was interested in marrying her."

"Oh, I hope he doesn't," Alyssa sighed. "She's nice and all, but…" She pursed her lips, as if trying to think of the most tactful way to say that she was prejudiced against Muggles. "…Mother and Father will disown him if that happens. They already think he broke it off a while ago."

"I dunno, I think they'd be understanding," said Danielle, though she had only met Mr and Mrs MacDougal briefly at King's Cross once.

"It's okay, Lyssa. You can say that you don't like her because she's a Muggle. We all know the truth," Georgina added, thankfully lowering her voice.

"It's not that," Alyssa tried to argue, but her words fell on deaf ears. Danielle couldn't help but feel slightly guilty; she had no right to judge her friend when _she_ was living with quite possibly the most anti-Muggle prejudiced person to ever exist.

Thankfully, the conversation soon turned to a slightly less controversial topic, and Danielle was all too eager to throw herself into it, trying her hardest not to think about the next day.

* * *

The crowds had thinned out and the stores were just beginning to close down when they finally parted ways. Alyssa was going to Apparate back home, and Georgina was staying at the Leaky Cauldron.

"I'll visit you this weekend, Clara," Alyssa said as she gave her friend a quick hug. "See how you're doing with your new job." She smirked.

Danielle couldn't help but frown. "Just because you're going to live off your parents' money for the rest of your life doesn't mean everyone can," she snapped, and instantly regretted her words. A look of hurt flashed across Alyssa's face, but she quickly stifled it.

"I guess you're right," she said before turning to Georgina. "Have fun at Hogwarts," she said. "Remember to stay as far away from Tom as possible, or Clara will have your head."

Georgina mock-rolled her eyes. "I promise," she smiled. They watched Alyssa disappear into the distance and then vanish with a loud crack before the two of them began to head back in the opposite direction.

"Listen, Clara, I promise I won't hang around Tom too much," Georgina said. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Danielle said, stunned. "Actually, I hadn't thought about it at all until you brought it up…" She knew she didn't have anything to worry about when it came to him and Georgina. Although they would be Head Boy and Girl, respectively, she knew they wouldn't interact more than the bare minimum called for.

"Have you ever considered marriage?" Georgina asked. Danielle was even _more_ dumbfounded by the question, and for a moment she just stared at her friend, open-mouthed.

"No," she said. "Honestly, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the concept that I'm _living_ with Tom, much less thinking about marrying him. What about you and Skender?" she asked after a pause.

Georgina shrugged. "I don't think we know enough about each other yet. We're still young, after all. I mean," she lowered her voice so passersby couldn't hear, "It's so strange that people our age are expected to get married, haven't you noticed? Alyssa doesn't seem bothered by it, but she's grown up with those values."

"No, I understand," Danielle replied. "You should see the looks on peoples' faces when I tell them that I'm unmarried and living with someone. The wizarding world might be more progressive than the Muggle world, but there are some things that never change, I guess."

They'd reached the Leaky Cauldron by then, and Georgina slung her bag over her shoulder, grinning at Danielle as she stood in the doorway to the pub. "I'm assuming you're going to see Tom off tomorrow morning?" she asked. When Danielle nodded, she continued, "I'll see you then!" With a wave, she disappeared inside, leaving her standing alone on the street.

* * *

The setting sun cast long shadows over Diagon Alley as Danielle headed up the street to her flat, suddenly eager to get back as soon as possible. She and Tom only had a limited amount of time left together, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Their building was at the farthest edge of the alley, almost straddling the space between wizarding and Muggle London. It was convenient for when Danielle wanted to visit Billy Stubbs (who had finally moved out of the orphanage) but aside from that, she didn't often venture into the city. She divided her time between Diagon Alley and the flat, preferring to keep to herself. She'd considered visiting the orphanage and saying hello to Mrs Cole, but she had a nagging feeling that the matron would not want any reminder of Tom to cross her mind ever again.

Danielle let herself in to the building and hurried up the flights of staircases to their seventh-floor flat. The building had ten floors in total, but she rarely interacted with the other tenants, aside from a quick "hello" in passing or a nod in the street. Most of them included young witches and wizards fresh out of Hogwarts like her, or the extremely elderly who could no longer care for themselves in their own houses, but who were not yet ill enough to go to St Mungo's.

As soon as she entered the flat, a tiny, happily chirping bird landed on her shoulder. "Hi, Ophelia," Danielle told her pet Snidget, who nestled in her hair happily as she walked over to the desk where Tom was sitting, studying the _Daily Prophet_ intently.

"I'm back," she said to him, resting one hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for the announcement, Clara," he said without looking up, but she could see his cheeks twitch upward as he smirked.

Danielle knew better than to disturb him while he was concentrating, so she walked over to the emerald green armchair that sat in front of the empty fireplace and curled up on it, watching the back of his head.

Their flat was very small—not exactly the best option for when they had a row—but Danielle had gotten used to it. There was a main room, which housed the fireplace, the armchair, and a desk, the small kitchen, a bathroom, and their bedroom. Danielle had bought the minimum amount of furniture possible, since she didn't want to spend all the money Holstone had given her at once. She was planning to furnish it by Christmas, after she'd received more money.

While Ophelia slept in her hair, Danielle watched her screech owl, Alistair, devour a mouse in his cage. She tried not to let herself be bothered by him flying in at all hours of the night with whatever prey he'd managed to catch. Back when she'd had Ophelia, her snowy owl in the future, she'd never had to witness her eating unless she'd been in the Owlery at the time.

Tom finally stood up from the desk and walked over to her, reaching over to pull Ophelia out of her hair. "You were gone quite a long time," he remarked, a bit of his possessiveness beginning to show through. At least he was bothering to try to hide it, Danielle thought wryly.

"Alyssa couldn't decide on her dress," she explained. "It took Georgina and I almost leaving to convince her what to get." She grabbed Tom's hand and pulled him toward her, kissing him deeply. When he pushed away to give her air, she breathed, "I'm going to miss you."

"Hogwarts will not be the same without you," Tom said, which was as good of an agreement as anything.

Danielle stood up but kept a tight grip on his hands as she leaned into him, breathing in his familiar scent. "I should just go tell Dippet that I want to go back," she said, pressing her lips to his jaw.

"Sentimentality will not get you anywhere, Clara," Tom replied, pulling back and staring into her eyes. "It is too late to change things now."

Danielle frowned. "You were against me taking this job two months ago," she told him. "What happened to make you change your mind?"

Tom's eyebrows raised as if he was contemplating telling her the truth or not, before he finally said, "There is something not right with Holstone. He has to have an ulterior motive for offering you the job."

"Is that why you suddenly agreed to me taking it?" Danielle whispered. "You want me to spy on him."

He smirked. "Of course."

It was exactly something she'd expected from him, but she couldn't deny that the words still stung. "Oh," Danielle said in a quiet voice. "I guess I just thought you'd decided to give me some independence for once."

Tom sighed in exasperation. "You do have independence, Clara. I do not wish to have anyone around me all the time, and that includes you."

This time she actually stepped away from him, trying to control her ridiculous burst of pain. "Okay," she said in a small voice, glancing away from him.

But she immediately felt a cool finger grab her chin and pull it back up toward him. "What has gotten into you?" Tom asked. "Surely you have known this for months, if not years."

"I have," Danielle admitted. "I just…I'm just going to miss you, that's all." Her voice cracked at the end, and she couldn't stop tears beginning to build up in her eyes.

"Clara, do not be so overdramatic," Tom chastised her. "Hogwarts is not that far away."

"I know," Danielle said, struggling to retain control of her emotions. "I'm just being unreasonable."

Tom surveyed her for another moment before beginning to turn around, but Danielle caught him by the arm. "Let's just make the most of our last night together," she told him. "Please?"

A light smirk graced his lips, and she reached for him, kissing him with all her might and pretending that she would never have to let him go.

* * *

King's Cross was a bustling cacophony of noise and shouts as Danielle and Tom navigated their way through it the following morning. Muggles and wizards alike were preparing for the day ahead, and the early-autumn sun beat down upon their heads as they wove through the platforms.

Danielle held on to Tom's hand as tightly as she could, relishing in his warm touch for as long as she could. He'd become more relaxed about their relationship, and though he often shot her pointed looks if she tried to become _too_ affectionate in public, he wasn't as averse to hand-holding or quick kisses as he once was.

They hadn't spoken much that morning, only to exchange trivial conversation. Danielle didn't mind that; she knew their relationship went beyond mere words.

They hurried through the barrier of Platform 9 ¾ and found themselves standing next to the Hogwarts Express, its brilliant red exterior shining in the light.

"Hey, Clara!" Danielle turned to see Georgina running up toward them, her owl cage clutched in her hand.

"Hi, Georgie," she teased, smiling at her friend's glare. "Have fun this year."

"You too," she replied, enveloping Danielle in a huge hug before turning to Tom. "I suppose I'll have to see _you_ this year more than I'd care to."

"The feeling is mutual, Miss Taylor," he replied without breaking his polite expression. Danielle snickered at Georgina's irate glare.

"I'll go and get ready to patrol the train," she told him. "Wouldn't want to be shirking on my Head Girl duties, now. I'll let you two lovebirds say goodbye." With one last smile at Danielle, she waved and disappeared into the crowd.

The train whistle suddenly blew, causing Danielle to jump. She quickly turned to Tom, knowing it was their last chance. "So, I guess this is it," she said. "I promise to write as soon as I can. And I'll be careful," she added, rolling her eyes.

To her surprise, Tom was the one to lean down first, ignoring the people pressing in on all sides, and press his lips to hers, crushing her to him for a second as if he could keep her there forever, before pulling away. For once, Danielle couldn't read the emotion in his dark blue eyes. "I love you," she whispered.

Tom kissed her again, his lips hard and bruising. "You know how I feel about you, Clara," he murmured in her ear, his voice low and seductive, before straightening up again and stepping onto the train when there was a free space.

Danielle took a step back, searching for him in the windows, but he was nowhere to be seen. She didn't expect him to wave, anyway. Nevertheless, she raised her hand in farewell as the train began to move, enveloping the entire platform with its thick gray smoke. She stood on her tiptoes to peer over the crowds' heads until the train got smaller and smaller before rounding a corner and disappearing entirely.

It was a strange feeling; she'd always been the one _on_ the train, never the one watching it leave. As melodramatic as it sounded, she felt as if a part of her heart had been ripped from her.

As she finally turned around with the crowd to head back through the barrier, she caught a glimpse of the clock: it was just after eleven—meaning she had half an hour to get to the Ministry.

Danielle gulped; she didn't want to be late her first day on the job. Ducking between a group of weeping parents who had evidently just sent off their children for the first time, she headed back through King's Cross and out onto the streets of London, toward a place where she could Apparate out of sight.

With Tom's assistance, she'd practiced her Apparation skills during the summer. She'd been Splinched several times, but thankfully none were as bad as her injury when she was in Germany. Now Danielle liked to think she was an expert on it (or at least, better than she was before).

When she'd found an empty alleyway, she slipped into it and quickly spun on her feet, concentrating on the grand image of the Ministry Atrium. It wasn't long before she felt herself being squeezed and the alleyway disappeared from around her, to be replaced with the bright, gleaming ceilings of the Ministry of Magic.

She'd been in the building twice before (once when she was a child in the future and the other the previous month when she'd snuck in to take a look around the place so she wouldn't get lost) but the grandeur of the place never failed to amaze her. She pulled her hat down low over her eyes and kept her head down as she hurried to the lifts, trying to blend in.

Since she was so much shorter than the other wizards and witches in the lift, she was shuffled to the back and found herself pressed tightly against an older wizard's back as everyone clamoured to get a spot. The doors clanged shut and the lift immediately shot downward, Danielle closing her eyes tightly so she wouldn't become sick at the sudden stopping and starting.

Gradually, the lift emptied as it traveled to different floors, until Danielle was the only one left. "Level Nine, Department of Mysteries," a female voice said, and the lift stopped with a shudder. The doors swung open, and Danielle stepped out into a dark hallway, her hand protectively clutching the handle of her wand.

She was in a very dark, shadowy corridor, and all she could see was a plain black door in front of her. Swallowing nervously, she started toward it—but was suddenly blocked by a tall, dark figure wearing a pair of matching ebony robes. "P—Professor Holstone!" she exclaimed. "I was just looking for you…"

"Good morning, Miss Ashford," Holstone said curtly. "You may call me sir, or Mr Holstone, as I am not your professor anymore. Did you not get my note? I owled you this morning."

"No," Danielle replied, feeling suddenly panicked. "I was at King's Cross—saying goodbye to—"

"—Mr Riddle," Holstone said, and he made no effort to hide the disgust in his voice. "Of course, I should have realized. Well, if you'd been there to read it, you would have known that I asked you to meet me in the Atrium, as you will not be entering the Department of Mysteries today. There are several tests you must pass in order to become an Unspeakable, as I'm sure you can understand."

"Yes, sir," Danielle said mutely as Holstone led her back to the lift. It clattered to life again and they hurtled upward, both making a pointed effort not to look at the other. "I, er, appreciate all you've done," she finally tried. "I bought a flat in Diagon Alley and some furniture…"

"I'm glad," Holstone answered. "Now, do you have any idea what you'll be doing?"

"No," Danielle said, and he pursed his lips in disappointment, as if she had any idea what sort of work she would be doing in the Department of Mysteries.

Thankfully, they had reached the ground floor again, and Danielle was all too happy to leap out of the lift and into a wide space again.

"You will be working with another witch your age," Holstone told her as he strode over to the wall lined with fireplaces where the employees could Floo anywhere they wished. "In fact, I daresay that you know her—she was in your year at Hogwarts, after all."

Before Danielle could process this information, a horribly familiar voice rang out, "Ashford?"

She slowly turned around to see the slim figure of Olive Hornby walking toward them. Danielle had hoped she would never have to see her again, but unfortunately she appeared to have been wrong.

"Miss Hornby has spent the summer interning here, and I have instructed her to show you the ropes," Holstone explained, with what Danielle imagined was a small smirk on his face as he sensed the sudden hostility in the air.

"All right," Danielle stuttered, who couldn't help but feel as if Olive would be more suited to torturing people in the most painful way possible than working in the Department of Mysteries.

For her part, Olive looked just as unhappy. "You didn't tell me I'd be working with _her_ ," she said, turning her nose up at Danielle.

Holstone sighed. "You are both adults. I do not care what childhood rivalry you may harbour; I expect both of you to get along civilly and courteously."

"Why are _you_ working here?" Danielle asked more rudely than she'd intended, ignoring him.

"If you must know, Father forced me to do it," Olive replied. "Don't look at me like that, Ashford, I didn't ask for the job."

Danielle chewed anxiously on the inside of her lip, feeling suddenly panicked. Looking at her old enemy's glaring face and Holstone's sneering one, she wished more than ever that she had decided to go back to Hogwarts.


	3. Lucky Break

As the Hogwarts Express sped northward, the atmosphere on the train began to become more electric, almost as if the excitement of the students had been transformed into something tangible.

Georgina slowly made her way down the corridor, peering into each of the compartments to make sure the students weren't doing anything illegal. _I'm having way too much fun with my Head Girl privileges, and we're not even at Hogwarts yet,_ she thought with no small amount of glee.

She sighed when she came to the compartment at the very end of the train, unsurprised at who she saw there. "Hello, Riddle," she said resignedly.

He looked up sharply at her entrance. "Miss Taylor," he greeted her courteously, though his body language suggested he wished she leave that instant.

But Georgina had never been one for taking orders. Adjusting her Head Girl badge and turning the collar of her robes up so that the rearing scarlet lion emblazoned on the fabric was fully on display, she sat down across from him, fighting to control her grin. "So, how have the first four hours without Clara been?" she asked.

Normally he wasn't one for petty comebacks, but this time he seemed unable to stop himself from saying, "I have managed. How have the first four days without Mr Bardhi been?"

 _Well played, Riddle,_ Georgina thought, impressed in spite of herself. "I've managed," she said vaguely. "Also, I've finished my patrol."

"Congratulations," Tom replied with only the slightest hint of sarcasm in his otherwise smooth voice. "At least you are competent."

"Listen," Georgina interrupted with a grimace, "I know you wish Clara was in my place, and I completely understand. But we can't change that now, so let's just make the best of it, all right? I know you want to be around me even less than I want to be around you."

"Then why did you choose to come in here if you detest me so much?" Tom deadpanned. Georgina felt unsettled as he turned his charming smile onto her, his façade completely flawless.

"Because I want to settle something," she said, clasping her hands over her knees so he wouldn't see her shaking. For all her wit and sarcasm, she was just as vulnerable as everyone else. When he raised one eyebrow as if permitting her to speak, she continued, "You think I know too much, don't you? You're waiting for the perfect moment to cast a Memory Charm on me so that all my knowledge of who you are…who you _will_ be, is erased."

His guise didn't falter for an instant. He was an unnervingly good actor, Georgina had to admit. How could Clara tell when he was sincere or not? If it was _her_ he was involved with, she would be constantly questioning everything he said to make sure he wasn't lying. "You are jumping to conclusions, Miss Taylor," Tom told her. "You know I have both the ability and the inclination to do so, but perhaps I have changed my mind."

Georgina was confused, but she tried not to let it show as she frowned at him, not wanting to ask the question on her lips. Tom, of course, noticed this, and his smirk, which had present during their entire conversation, grew into something that was almost a sneer. "You are on your guard now," he explained, with the air of someone who was talking to a very young child. "So it would not be wise for me to do anything. After all, if you warn Professor Dumbledore of anything before it happens, then he will be less inclined to believe you when it _does_ occur."

"What are you trying to say?" Georgina couldn't stop herself from asking. _Damn him for being so bloody ambiguous!_

"I am merely suggesting that it is impossible for you to know if and when it will occur," Tom said lightly. His long fingers closed over the handle of his wand, and he continued to regard her as if he were a dragon toying with its prey.

Georgina took that as her cue to leave—he was, in modern slang, the creepiest person she'd ever met. Ridiculously handsome or not, she cringed at the thought of spending an hour every night patrolling with him. "Well, thanks, Tom," she said dryly as she pushed open the compartment door. "I'll definitely sleep better tonight."

As she stepped out, the door began to slide closed, but was stopped by someone's foot. Georgina froze, staring at the shiny, polished black shoe for a moment before her gaze slowly traveled upward to the pointed, arrogant face of her great-great-grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy.

He raised his chin as he met her gaze boldly, indicating that he was the one in control. All traces of bravado Georgina might have put on had it been anyone else vanished out the window, and she gave a small squeak before ducking under his arm and disappearing down the corridor.

Abraxas shook his head, marveling at the stupidity of women, before heading into Tom's compartment. He dusted some imaginary dirt off his robes before sitting down, his icy blue eyes staring into Tom's darker ones. "Riddle," he greeted with a curt nod.

"Good day, Abraxas," Tom said smoothly. "You have chosen to attend Hogwarts for an extra year as well? I daresay you need it."

Abraxas' eyes narrowed slightly at the insult, but he appeared to stifle his annoyance and press on with the subject at hand. "As you know, we are the only ones left out of the group to come back," he said. After Tom's nod of agreement, he continued. "I think that's for the best. The others were just useless little lumps hardly deserving of the title of 'wizard'. You and I are far more powerful than the rest of them put together—"

"Are you suggesting that I am the only other person equal to you?" Tom asked. He didn't bother to put on his façade; his smirk had returned in full force.

Abraxas turned slightly pink and he tugged at his collar. "No, I would say that _I_ am the only other person equal to _you_." When Tom refused to answer, watching him with cold amusement, he sighed and ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair. "What happened to your plans, Tom? I thought we were going to kill Dumbledore and open the Chamber of—"

"Silence," Tom spat, sounding exactly like his old self. "Has your memory failed you? I informed you shortly before Hogwarts closed that none of you have earned my trust, and that still holds true today."

Abraxas's mouth fell open, a gesture that would have been laughable to anyone else watching. "I listened to you for five years! We were prepared to do whatever you asked of us. And now you're saying that you're throwing away years of preparation?"

"I am not throwing it away," Tom said quietly; his eyes appeared to have frozen. "I am just altering the plan."

"Because of Ashford," Abraxas spat. "She's not even worth it, Tom. What is about her that you are so drawn to?"

"Forgive me, Abraxas," replied Tom, his knuckles whitening and his grip on his wand getting tighter, although Malfoy did not notice this; "I also fail to see what drew _you_ to Olive Hornby. At least I have not made the mistake of conceiving a child; I am afraid that you will not be able to assist us if you are busy taking care of a baby."

Abraxas rose to his feet, a furious expression on his face. "Have it your way, then." While Tom watched him with an emotionless expression, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the compartment, his robes swishing as he went.

* * *

Danielle wasn't sure whether she should curse or at least try to act friendly to Olive, so she settled for a tight-lipped smile instead. Olive didn't bother to do the same back to her; the blatant revulsion on her face was answer enough.

"As adults in the eyes of the wizarding community, I expect that you two will get along civilly and courteously," Holstone said. "Working for the Ministry entails that you are both working for something far greater than yourselves. Therefore, if I hear of _any_ inappropriate behaviour from either of you, I reserve the right to freeze your payments and you will be removed from the job immediately. Is this clear?"

Terrified, Danielle nodded. Olive was slower to respond, but she gave a quick jerk of the neck that could be interpreted as a seizure if one were to look at it in a certain way.

"All right," Holstone continued, satisfied. "Now, as I'm sure you are aware, employees, especially employees working in the Department of Mysteries, are not chosen lightly. Before either of you can begin your work, you must pass a set of tests that prove you are trustworthy."

Danielle glanced over at Olive and couldn't stop herself from saying, "I thought you worked here during the summer."

"I did," Olive snapped in annoyance, her eyes narrowing. "I was just filing paperwork. It got too boring, so I asked Father if he could pull some strings and move me somewhere more exciting."

Something was definitely not right. No matter how much power Mr Hornby might hold in the wizarding community, how had he convinced them to let his eighteen-year-old daughter work in the Department of Mysteries, where she might come across crucial and extremely sensitive information that she was not liable to keep? There was something more behind this. Danielle wasn't sure if Olive herself knew or not, and even if she did she wasn't likely to tell _her_ anything.

"Now, come with me," Holstone said briskly, after watching their confrontation with a barely concealed smirk on his face. Pointedly not looking at each other, Danielle and Olive followed his imposing figure down a short hallway and up a flight of polished stairs to a row of offices. Holstone pushed open one of the doors into a plain, square room with nothing but a desk sitting in the middle of it. There weren't any personalized pictures or anything to suggest the occupant's personality; or rather, if it even _had_ an occupant. It reminded Danielle very much of Dippet's office, and she could now see why they were friends.

"Sit," Holstone instructed. Danielle and Olive obediently lowered themselves into two chairs pushed against the wall. Now they both had to crane their heads awkwardly to see Holstone, who did not seem at all bothered by this arrangement.

"You will not be starting your work today, or any time this week," he announced. "The Ministry's protocol requires a minimum standard of testing to be afforded to all of its potential employees, including such skills as being able to withstand the effects of Veritaserum and being quick to think on your feet. I will also be conducting background checks on your families in the near future."

Danielle tried her hardest not to betray her sudden, crippling fear at the thought of Holstone investigating the name Clara Ashford and coming up with nothing; even so, she managed to turn her anxiety into crossing her legs, hoping the expression on her face was cool and aloof.

"Maybe I'll just go back into filing paperwork," Olive grumbled. "This sounds like more trouble than it's worth. Mother and Father won't be happy to be disturbed—they're on vacation in Italy, you know," she announced, as if they had gone to the moon.

"Sir," said Danielle, unable to help herself, "Why did you even request me if you felt you had to test me on my abilities? Wouldn't it have been easier just to test me back in June so you were sure that I was trustworthy?"

"That is a valid point, Miss Ashford," he replied, looking annoyed at her interruption, "But I was not the one who suggested this. In fact, the Minister for Magic himself is aware that the pair of you are going to be working in the Department of Mysteries, and he is the one who ordered the tests. If you can find someone who is willing to vouch for you, then they are welcome to take it up with him."

 _Dumbledore,_ Danielle thought with no small amount of relief. He would surely be able to work his magic (literally) and aid her in some way. He'd always come to her rescue before. She would send him a letter as soon as she got home.

"Is that clear?" Holstone was saying, gazing sternly back and forth between Olive and Danielle. Once they'd nodded, he reached into his desk and pulled out two small flasks filled with a clear liquid. "Good. We shall get started right away, then. Do you realize what this is?"

"Veritaserum," Olive said right away, causing Danielle to look at her in some surprise.

"Correct, Miss Hornby," Holstone answered. "I presume you know what its effects are—"

"Wait," interrupted Danielle. "You're going to give it to us right now?"

"Only a small quantity. You will gradually build up your tolerance to it until I can give you the largest dose." Holstone stared down his long nose at her, as if daring her to argue.

"Isn't it illegal?" Olive asked, with unconcealed trepidation on her face, and for once, Danielle was glad to have her there.

"Not in the Ministry," Holstone replied. "If either of you have a problem with it—"

"No," Danielle and Olive said at the same time, giving each other a sideways glance before just as quickly looking away. But suspicion still churned in Danielle's stomach; the feeling that something wasn't right had only gotten stronger.

Holstone conjured two glasses of water and carefully emptied a drop into each of them before pushing them across the table. "I will ask each of you a question in turn, and I want you to try your best to lie to me. Who would like to go first?"

When neither girl answered, he shoved the glass at Olive. "Since you claim to be so advanced at Potions, I daresay that you will be thrilled to go first."

Of course, Olive couldn't refute her lie, so she hesitantly reached out a hand and took the glass, raising it to her lips. "Drink it all," Holstone instructed, and after a moment she downed the glass, placing it back on the table. Her hands were trembling.

Danielle watched closely as a peculiar glaze clouded Olive's eyes, and they even seemed to unfocus slightly. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes," Olive said immediately. "An older br—brother."

Holstone leaned back and reached for another vial, this time with a blue liquid inside it; Danielle assumed it was the antidote. He handed it to Olive and she drank it immediately, snapping back to attention. "Not only did you supply me the information right away, you also went above and beyond the question I asked of you," he told her. "However, those kinds of results are normal on the first attempt. You will need to concentrate more next time. Don't become arrogant."

With that said, he turned to Danielle, who was so nervous she could feel her heart pumping fast against her ribs. Wordlessly, he pushed her own glass toward her, and she picked it up, not meeting his eyes as she tipped it toward her mouth, hoping against hope there would be an interruption, something to prevent her from drinking it—

But nothing happened, and she felt herself automatically swallow the liquid as it reached her throat. It was odourless as well as colourless; she might have just been drinking water.

For several seconds, Danielle wondered if, miraculously, she was immune to the potion—nothing appeared to have changed. Then she heard Holstone ask, "Do _you_ have any siblings?" and the words came tumbling out of her mouth as involuntarily as if someone else had spoken them: "Yes."

Dimly, she felt enormous relief that she hadn't gone as far as Olive had and elaborated on the details, while the main part of her brain was focused on screaming that she had made a terrible mistake. When Holstone handed her the vial of blue liquid, she automatically reached out and drank it, feeling a small jerk just behind her eyes, as if she had fallen asleep for a moment and then been quickly awakened.

Olive was looking at her in shock, and Holstone stroked his beard in approval as he said, "Well, well, well. I must admit that I am impressed, Miss Ashford."

Danielle was stunned for a second, until the answer hit her: He believed the story Dumbledore had spread to everyone: that she was a Dutch orphan whose parents had been killed in an air-raid. By telling the truth, she had made him believe she was adept at lying.

"Are you sure you gave her enough?" Olive asked. "That was impossible—"

"Quiet, Miss Hornby," he snapped. He refilled Danielle's empty glass, this time putting in two drops of Veritaserum instead of one. "Try again," he instructed.

"Sir, I really don't think—" Danielle began, but he raised one threatening eyebrow and she was forced to comply. She choked a bit as the liquid slid down her throat, but unfortunately she consumed the entire glass.

"Where were you born?" he asked this time.

Again, Danielle had absolutely no control over the answer that followed: "London."

However, instead of giving her the antidote, he pressed, "Have you ever been to Holland?"

"No."

"Were your parents killed in an air-raid?"

"No."

With another quick pull behind her eyes, Danielle felt the serum wear off, but she forced her eyes to unfocus, letting her vision go blurry.

Then Holstone delivered the final, winning blow: "Do you have romantic feelings toward Tom Riddle?"

"No," Danielle lied for the first time. Olive let out a tiny growl of frustration beside her.

With a muted approval in his eyes, Holstone handed her the antidote—of course it didn't have an effect since the potion had already worn off, but Danielle drank it anyway, deliberately focusing her eyes and pretending to snap to attention, gazing around the office as if it was the first time she'd seen it.

"I congratulate you, Miss Ashford," Holstone said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I would never have expected you to be so…proficient."

Danielle forced herself to ignore the insult, giving a sheepish smile. "I had no idea either, sir."

He continued to regard her for another long, uncomfortable moment before saying, "I think that will be all, Miss Ashford."

"What do you mean?" Danielle asked stupidly, twisting her hands in her lap.

"I _mean,_ " Holstone said slowly, drawing the word out, "That you have proven yourself in this particular…discipline. Veritaserum is difficult to come by, and surely you agree that it should not go to waste."

Danielle could hardly believe what she was hearing. "So, I don't have to take it again?"

"I believe that is what you can infer from my explanation," Holstone agreed. "However, there is no doubt that you will struggle with some of the other tasks, so be prepared."

"I will, sir," she said fervently, although she would have liked nothing more than to draw her wand and curse his smug expression into the next century.

"Very well. You may go," he said, and Danielle was all too happy to stand up and hurry out of his office. Before the door swung shut behind her, she heard Olive complain, "Why _does_ she get to leave?"

* * *

After the welcoming feast, Tom and Georgina trudged upstairs to begin their patrols. True to their words earlier, they interacted as little as possible and quickly separated to their different floors. Georgina was more than happy to get away from him, and Tom was, for his part, just as happy to get away from her.

When they did finally meet up again, it was nearing midnight and Georgina struggled to hide a yawn behind her hand. "This castle is bloody huge," she groaned. "I didn't realize how long it would take to patrol it."

Tom glanced sideways at her, opening his mouth as if he was about to speak—and then he suddenly closed it again, his head snapping around to the wall. "What is it?" Georgina asked.

"Nothing," Tom replied right away, but his eyes were still moving along the wall with an intense concentration.

Brushing it off as another one of his oddities, Georgina headed down the corridor to the portrait of the Fat Lady without bidding him goodbye, glad to be relieved of his presence at last.

But Tom stayed standing where he was, not even sparing a glance at Georgina's retreating figure. He reached out one hand and placed it on the wall, feeling an odd vibration pass through his fingers. One word, the slippery hiss of Parseltongue, had echoed through his brain seconds before:

" _Kill_."

* * *

That night, Danielle sat at the writing-desk, with a quill clasped in one hand and a piece of parchment lying in front of her. Despite all that had occurred in the twelve hours they'd been apart, she honestly had no idea what to tell him. He would surely overreact if she told him about the incident with the Veritaserum…she wondered if she should tell Tom about her unease, but felt that she would only get an unsympathetic response—it had been, after all, her decision.

After several minutes of pondering, chewing idly on the back of her quill, Danielle dipped the tip into the inkpot before beginning to scribble on the parchment, leaving smears of ink in her haste to get it over with as quickly as possible.

_Tom,_

_I sincerely hope that you will write back to me and not just toss my letter into the fire after you read it, something I know you are tempted to do. Also, I'm planning on sending you letters every day until you answer me back. Actually, that was a joke. But I would appreciate it very much if I received an answer._

_How was your first day back at Hogwarts? Did you have fun patrolling with Georgina? I would imagine she is more interesting than me and you were glad to hear someone else's voice for a change. Please tell Myrtle I say hi and give Professor Dumbledore a hug from me (just kidding)._

_My day went well—Holstone is just as intimidating as ever, and in addition to being scrutinized by him I also have to work alongside Olive Hornby. Perhaps my first task should be figuring out how in the name of Merlin she managed to secure a job in the Department of Mysteries. If they allow people like_ _her_ _in there, I shudder to think what else is happening in the rest of the wizarding world._

_Anyway, I hope you had a good day back. I would normally write 'I miss you', but I feel as if you would disapprove of that._

_Love,_

_Clara_

After quickly rereading the letter, Danielle folded it up and pushed back her chair, walking over to Alistair and putting it in his beak. "Please deliver this to Tom as soon as you can," she told him before opening the window. He hooted happily at her before taking off in a flurry of wings and disappearing into the starry night.


	4. The Serpent's New Master

Nearly a week passed before Danielle received a reply from Tom. It was early on a Saturday morning, and she was enjoying her only chance to sleep in as long as she wanted when an impatient tap sounded at her window.

Danielle groaned into her pillow and pulled the blanket over her head as if it would block out the noise. Unfortunately for her, however, the tapping continued, and she was finally forced to crawl out of bed, stumbling through half-closed eyes over to the window where she shoved it open, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her forefinger as if she had a migraine. A cool, early-morning breeze rushed into the room along with Alistair, and she shivered at the sharp chill that signaled autumn was fully upon the city before slamming it shut again.

Alistair dropped the letter onto her head before flying onto his perch, disturbing a sleeping Ophelia and beginning to chatter away, impatient for a treat. Too tired to grab her wand, Danielle reached into the bag of owl treats that was sitting on the table, tossing a handful at him before pulling out the letter from where it had gotten buried in her curls and walking back over to the bed. She burrowed herself back under the covers before pulling out Tom's letter.

A peculiar wave of trepidation shot through her as she pulled out the letter, seeing his neat, elegant script through the thin parchment. Why was she nervous? It wasn't as if he knew what was _really_ going on at the Ministry, unless Holstone or Olive had told him.

 _I'm just being irrational,_ Danielle tried to tell herself as her eyes quickly scanned the letter.

 _Clara,_ (it read)

_I would think it wise to tell your owl that arriving with the letter at most inconvenient times, such as during a lesson or after midnight, are inappropriate. I am not certain whether you have planned this (I would not be surprised) but make sure it does not happen again._

"Git," Danielle muttered, but she couldn't stop a smile from pulling at her lips.

_Things are the same here. Lessons are not particularly challenging, but I do believe I have convinced Dippet to let me apply for an interview for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as Merrythought is retiring at the end of this year. If all goes well, I should have the job by next September._

_Dumbledore often asks me how you are doing; I would advise you to write him yourself, as he is quite irritating and I would be relieved if I did not have to endure his presence any longer._

_I should hope you are not doing anything foolish in your job. Holstone and Hornby both know your weaknesses (as they are quite easy to find and exploit) so you will have to keep your guard up at all times._

_As with Dumbledore, the Taylor girl often asks about you; I already have to put up with her in classes and patrolling in the evening, so you can imagine that this is most inconvenient to me as well._

_Tom_

How was it, Danielle wondered as she folded up the letter and placed it on the pillow beside her, that he could manage to write so much yet actually say so little? She felt as if she had been scolded even though she'd done nothing.

She would write him a response later, when she could think of something to say that wouldn't involve them getting into an argument. For now, though, she just wanted to sleep.

* * *

Moaning Myrtle perched on the top of the row of sinks in her usual haunt, mournfully singing a tune to herself and waiting for someone to come in so she could harass them.

However, when the door to the girls' bathroom opened, the person who walked in most certainly wasn't a girl. Myrtle gasped in surprise as Tom Riddle strode in, looking calm and collected as usual. "T—Tom!" she gasped, swooping down from the sinks to hang upside-down in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

"The Headmaster would like to speak to you," Tom said smoothly, giving her a charming smile. "I believe it is about your attitude toward following Miss Hornby around this past summer."

Myrtle scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and her pigtails flying from side to side. "Fine," she grumbled. "But I had every right to do it with the way she treated me when I was al— _alive_ —" With an almighty wail, she floated past Tom and through the wall, her sobs echoing down the corridor.

After she was gone, Tom walked over to the sinks and bent down in front of the engraved snake. " _Open_ ," he hissed in Parseltongue. A moment later, the sinks began to move and he stood up, surveying the scene as they scraped aside to reveal a gaping abyss where the floor should be.

But when Tom entered the Chamber of Secrets for the first time in a year, he was, for once, taken by surprise.

The enormous stone statue of Salazar Slytherin was open, his mouth revealing an enormous hole in the stone. Tom carefully stepped over a huge, coiling snakeskin that looked as if it had taken up half of the Chamber, raising his wand and surveying the cavern. Water pooled around his feet, and his eyes were alert as they snapped over to the other side of the Chamber, where a distant rattling could be heard.

" _Who let you out?_ " Tom demanded to the basilisk, whose scales had just emerged into view as it slithered around the corner.

" _You are not my master anymore,_ " it replied, and Tom had to conjure a powerful spell so he wouldn't be killed by its gaze. But the snake continued to head straight toward him, baring its huge fangs as it let out a terrifying snarl.

" _Then who is your new maste_ r _?_ " he asked, eyes narrowing. " _Answer me!"_

" _I do not have to answer to you,"_ the basilisk snarled, and Tom just managed to dodge out of its way in time. No command would get it to stop attacking him, and he was eventually forced to escape the Chamber; the creature that rightfully belonged to him had turned sides in an instant.

* * *

A loud hammering at the door woke Danielle for the second time that day; at least she was slightly more awake when she dragged herself out of bed. Pulling on her dressing-gown, she glanced at her watch—it was just before noon—and yanked open the door to see Alyssa standing there, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, hi, Lyssa," Danielle said, standing aside so her friend could bound in. "I forgot you'd promised to visit this weekend. How are you?"

"Great—Alphard and I finally set our wedding date for the ninth of December. But enough about me—how was your first week at work?" Alyssa asked, walking over to Ophelia so the Snidget could hop onto her palm.

"Well, technically I haven't actually started the job yet," Danielle explained, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Alyssa glanced back at her inquisitively, and she gave her the basic explanation of the grueling tests she'd had to endure from Holstone the past week—including the Veritaserum and others, such as dodging curse after curse he threw at her and having to memorize a large amount of information in a short period of time and then recite it back word-for-word. Of course, she didn't tell Alyssa about the background checks he'd promised he would do. Danielle had owled Dumbledore straight away, but so far she hadn't gotten a response back from him. She hoped the letter had arrived safely.

But Alyssa didn't seem as concerned about the mortal peril Danielle was enduring as she was about the fact that Olive Hornby was working alongside her. "How did _she_ get in there?" Alyssa demanded, screwing her face up in disgust. "I can't believe she gave you that load of dragon dung about her father pulling some strings. She's probably shagging Holstone—"

"Oh, Merlin!" Danielle gulped, clapping her hand over her mouth as if she had just eaten something abhorrent. "Don't even joke about that, Lyssa, that's just _disgusting_ …"

"But I wouldn't be surprised if it was true," Alyssa said darkly. She walked over to Danielle and put a hand on her friend's shoulders. "You need to find a way out of this job, Clara. There's something not right about it."

"I know," Danielle moaned, dropping into the armchair and putting her face in her hands, "But it's my only source of income! Besides, where else am I going to get hired? No shop in Diagon Alley pays nearly enough to let me keep this flat."

"Then work in Knockturn Alley," suggested Alyssa. When this comment was not well-received, she sighed and perched on the arm of Danielle's chair. "Then I don't know what you should do. Maybe you're right and you should just try to stick it out. When you have enough money saved up, you can quit and work somewhere else."

Danielle nodded and inhaled deeply, imagining that it was Tom sitting next to her instead of Alyssa. Her heart contracted painfully as she thought of the distance between them—although it had been nice to live by herself for the first few days, she preferred him there. "I think that's what I'm going to end up doing."

* * *

The following day, she found herself even lonelier. It had been easy enough when she was at the Ministry all day, but Danielle had to admit that she couldn't stop thinking about Tom. She had written him a letter back and sent it off with Alistair, but she still missed him. After all she had been through, she was letting something as trivial as distance get to her.

When the silence of the flat seemed almost deafening with his absence, she'd finally had enough. Danielle stood up and decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear her head and help her figure out what to do about her current work situation. Holstone had told her she and Olive would both begin their jobs the following day, and Danielle still had no idea exactly what he had in store for them. Part of her sorely wished she'd gone back to Hogwarts. Merlin, she could be in the Prefects' common room right then, leaning against Tom's shoulder and reading a book…

Her melancholy thoughts propelled her right out of Diagon Alley and into Muggle London. The city had managed to clean itself up from the aftermath of six horrific years of war, but Danielle knew that it would take much longer than that for the psychological trauma to be erased.

Without even consciously realizing where she was going, Danielle found herself standing at the entrance to Billy's flat. She hadn't seen him for several weeks, and from what she heard he'd gotten a job as a reporter at the local Muggle newspaper agency, since the previous one had been killed on the battlefield. Danielle knew that his upbeat, optimistic personality would be helpful in his line of work.

But, as luck would have it, she didn't even need to knock on the door. "Clara!" a joyful voice called, and she grinned and waved as her great-uncle rode up toward her on his bicycle, gracefully hopping off and wheeling it to the side of the building. He looked very handsome in his new suit and tie, a far cry from the pale orphan Danielle had first encountered.

"Hi, Billy!" she exclaimed, giving him a hug. "How are you?"

"Never been better," he laughed, straightening his tie. "The girl in the room next to mine has been eyeing me all summer and I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out for tea today."

"Congratulations," Danielle smiled, patting him encouragingly on the back. "It was only a matter of time before you found someone."

"Yeah, I guess," Billy said, not quite able to hide his blush. "D'you wanna go for a walk?"

She readily agreed, and they set off, aimlessly walking around the city. Danielle tried to give him as many vague answers as she could whenever he asked about her job. Of course, Billy knew that something about her—and Tom—wasn't quite right, so he was used to her occasional oddities and strange ways of phrasing things.

"Clara, I have to ask you a serious question," he said as they walked around a side street that, Danielle noticed, was very close to Vauxhall Orphanage.

"All right," Danielle said, forcing a silly, and, she hoped, superficial grin onto her face. "What is it?"

Billy glanced down at the ground, kicking a cluster of leaves under his foot, before answering. "I can tell there's something… _different_ about you. Don't try to deny it. Just…I want to know what it is."

"Fine. I'm a witch," Danielle said, and couldn't believe how blasé she sounded. Actually, she couldn't believe that she had just _told_ him the truth. It was as if she'd been under the influence of Veritaserum and the words had just escaped her mouth.

"Clara, I'm serious," Billy pressed. They were taking a shortcut through a graveyard now that backed onto the orphanage, and Danielle could recognize the tall spires and forbidding atmosphere of the building even from the back. She hoped he wasn't going to make her take a visit; as much as she liked Mrs Cole, she didn't want to go back into that building under any circumstances. "You can trust me."

"I _do_ trust you, Billy," Danielle said. "Don't _you_ trust _me_ enough to believe that I'm telling you the truth?"

He was caught there, and he knew it. While he searched for something to say, her eyes caught a familiar name carved on one of the gravestones behind him. "Hang on," Danielle murmured, taking a step toward it. "Merope Gaunt?"

"Who's that?" Billy asked, sounding just as confused.

"She was Tom's mother," answered Danielle, almost to herself. The stone was worn by years of age; it looked very cheap, almost as if someone had retrieved it off the street. The only markings were her name and the year _1926_ engraved just below them.

"Oh, well, that's not surprising," Billy replied. "Many people who died at the orphanage are buried here."

There was a strange, hollow feeling in Danielle's chest as she surreptitiously pulled out her wand and conjured a bouquet of flowers before placing them on the ground in front of the headstone. The body must be long decomposed by now, not even leaving bones left, but somehow Danielle felt comforted, as if she was giving the poor woman the only bit of kindness she'd ever received.

"How did you get those flowers?" said Billy, who had been watching her progress.

"I told you, I'm a witch," Danielle replied as she stood up, unable to tear her eyes away from the name.

He sighed. "Fine, Clara. You don't have to tell me. I won't ask again."

Well, even if he thought she had gone mad, at least Danielle wouldn't have to try to explain the truth to him.

* * *

"What are you doing, wandering around at this hour, Tom?"

He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly around to face Dumbledore, as pleasant a smile as he could muster forming on his face while inside he burned with hatred. "I was just finishing my Head Boy duties, Professor."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said. He leaned against a pillar and looked thoughtfully at Tom, his bright eyes crinkling from behind his glasses. "How is the new year going for you? Will you be able to keep up with all your classes?"

It was intended as a joke, but it was clear Tom didn't see it quite that way. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he replied, "I think I will be fine."

"Good, good," Dumbledore said jovially, ignoring the waves of loathing radiating off the boy. "And how are you getting along with Miss Taylor?"

Tom clenched and unclenched his jaw before saying, "Honestly, Professor, we interact as little as possible."

Dumbledore laughed, regarding Tom with almost friendly eyes. "I am not surprised of that, Tom. Miss Taylor _is_ rather precocious. But," he suddenly grew serious, "Something tells me that is not all that is bothering you. Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Tom was quiet for a long moment, staring right back at Dumbledore. All of a sudden, he straightened up and shook his head very firmly. "No, sir. Nothing."

 


	5. The Time Room

On her first real day of work, Danielle made sure to show up at Holstone's office half an hour early—but of course, Olive had shown up before her. A sneer thinly disguised as a grin crossed her face when Danielle rounded the corner. "Hello, Ashford," she said, not bothering to hide her snide tone. "You're here early."

"Er, yeah," said Danielle, unable to look her in the eye. "I just thought it would be polite…"

"Well, he's not here yet, so I guess your idea wasn't a great one," Olive replied, tossing her long hair over her shoulder and looking down her nose at Danielle. Although the other girl was wearing extremely high heels, Danielle still felt as if she had shrunk. So as not to cry or accidentally use magic, she bit her bottom lip hard and stared at the door with Holstone's name marked on it, trying to imagine Tom next to her rolling her eyes at her childish behaviour. As melodramatic as it sounded, it was difficult to sleep without him at her side; difficult to breathe without him. _You have never felt anything like that, Olive Hornby,_ Danielle thought with a peculiar rush of vindictiveness. _I was able to catch Tom's eye and you never could, not even after trying for five years._

"D'you know what time he usually arrives?" Danielle asked after a moment, not wanting to bear the frosty silence a moment longer.

Olive shrugged. "It depends. Usually between eight and eight-thirty, although he'll be later if he was eating breakfast. We won't get breaks," she informed Danielle, with an acerbic bitterness in her tone that was, for once, not directed at her.

"Why not?" Danielle couldn't stop herself from asking. "What if we starve and he's forced to answer for our deaths?"

Olive didn't smile. "Then sneak some food into your bag. I did it during the summer and he never noticed."

Danielle wasn't so sure that Holstone would let a detail like that pass by him, but she chose not to comment on it aloud. They lapsed into another awkward silence before Olive said, "I can't believe you settled for wearing those clothes. You won't impress anyone looking like _that_."

"I can't believe you settled for Abraxas Malfoy," Danielle snapped back, unable to control her temper. As soon as the words left her mouth, she flinched, expecting a curse from Olive, but she was unprepared to see her face crumple and her eyes begin to turn red. Olive quickly turned away, pretending to be scratching her face, but Danielle had seen her tears. And to her disgust and annoyance, she actually felt _sorry_ for Olive Hornby.

Holstone's office door suddenly swung open, and Danielle was faced with his disapproving stare, which was an even more painful sight to behold early in the morning. "Good morning, Miss Ashford, Miss Hornby," he said, looking back and forth between the two of them. Had he been listening to their conversation?

"Good morning, sir," Danielle mumbled back. She expected to be let in to his office, but instead he walked out and shut the door behind him.

"Are you two ready to begin your jobs as Unspeakables?" he asked. "I trust you know that you will not be conducting anything important or top-secret, but I expect you to perform as effectively as if you were."

Merlin, with that self-important, arrogant manner and the articulate way of speaking, he sounded exactly like Tom. Really, it was a wonder they didn't get along. Danielle found herself scowling at his back as he began walking down the hallway, with barely a glance at Olive.

The other girl pushed herself off the wall and followed Holstone, giving Danielle a look of pure hatred as she did. Danielle meekly followed her, hating herself for feeling sorry for Olive and hating Olive for blaming her for everything. How would she get through this job without either of them eventually snapping and ending up murdering the other?

Holstone led them back outside to the lifts, and luckily they were squeezed in by numerous other Ministry employees, all of whom seemed to preoccupied to notice that there were two teenage girls in their midst.

Danielle was the first one to hop out when they reached the bottom floor, and she made sure to stay on the opposite side of Holstone as they walked toward the dark hallway with the plain black door at the end of it. Her heart began to pound a bit faster as they approached it; who knew what kind of secrets lay inside?

She wasn't at all eager to head in first, but seeing as how Olive hadn't attempted to curse her yet, she wasn't about to push her luck by standing next to her for any longer than she had to, so Danielle slipped inside first, blinking at the sudden darkness that covered her eyes.

She was in a circular room, that much she could tell, and the walls seemed to be painted black, giving the room an even more ominous look than it already possessed. There were torches burning blue flame placed around the walls, burning into the backs of her retinas until their reflections were burned onto her eyelids. Danielle blinked until the blue flames disappeared, and now she realized that there were doors placed all around the room, painted black as well and completely identical.

Holstone and Olive had by now entered the room behind her, and she was about to turn around and ask which door they were supposed to enter when there was a loud scraping noise and the walls began to revolve dizzyingly, causing Danielle to close her eyes and take a step backward.

Holstone caught her arm roughly, forcing her to stay still. "Don't move," she heard him say. "Only the walls are moving, not the floor. If you stay in the same spot, you will always find the door you are searching for; they always end back up in their original positions. This is meant to confuse possible intruders."

Danielle wasn't an intruder, and she was certainly confused when she dared to open her eyes. Everything appeared exactly identical; she wasn't even sure which door led to the exit.

At least Holstone knew where he was going—he nodded toward the door on their immediate right. "The Time Room, where you will be working, will always be on your right side, and the exit will always be on your left. You are _not_ to go into _any_ of the other rooms under any circumstances; I don't care if you are deathly ill or if you are merely lost. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Danielle mumbled. Olive, who still looked upset, merely nodded in response. Holstone drew his wand and led them over to the door on the right; Danielle had to glance back at the other doors, wondering what was inside them. Perhaps Georgina knew; she had said her father worked in the Department of Mysteries, after all. Although things were liable to have changed between 1945 and 2050, it was still worth a try.

When Holstone opened the door to the Time Room, Danielle's eyes were again assaulted by a bright light—but this time, thankfully, the room wasn't filled with blue flames. Instead, brilliant, sparkling light shone through it like a million tiny diamonds, dancing on the floor and moving on the walls. It nearly blinded her, and she had to throw an arm over her eyes.

"You'll soon get used to it," Holstone said uncaringly. Danielle hesitantly peered through her fingers, and saw his blurred silhouette moving ahead of her. Olive was close behind him, seeming unfazed by the light. Feeling silly, Danielle jogged after them, suddenly aware of a relentless ticking in her ears. For the first time, she allowed herself to take a good look around the high-ceilinged room.

It was much bigger than she had originally imagined, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that sparkled and reflected the bright light that was emanating from an unknown source. The architecture was similar to that of the Great Hall, with a high, arched ceiling and an elaborate network of beams crisscrossing under it. It made Danielle wonder how on earth such a large room could fit into the Department of Mysteries, and considering that they were on the very bottom floor of the Ministry…but she had learned long ago not to question the wizarding world, and so kept her mouth shut as she turned her attention to what was actually inside the room.

It was covered in shelves and cabinets, leaving room for only a tiny path that wove through the tables in a seemingly random pattern. The ticking came from the hundreds, if not thousands, of clocks that were placed all around the room—grandfather clocks, pocket-watches, even Muggle alarm clocks (Danielle wasn't even sure they had been invented yet). They were all set at different times, and every few seconds a clock could be heard chiming the hour.

Holstone led them by a glass shelf, and Danielle saw, her heart skipping a beat, rows upon rows of gold Time-Turners lying in neat lines inside. It looked very fragile and easy to smash, but she would have bet a million Galleons that it was protected with such strong magic that even Tom would have difficulty getting past it.

There was an empty space in the middle of the room, with a large crystal bell jar sitting on a table the centrepiece of the area. Danielle curiously peeked into it, and saw a tiny hummingbird perched on a branch, barely larger than Ophelia. Before her incredulous eyes, the hummingbird suddenly disappeared with a small poof of feathers, and an egg was sitting in its place. But the egg wasn't still for long before a tiny crack appeared on the top and a tiny baby bird poked its head out before pulling the rest of its body out of the egg. The pieces fell to the bottom where, Danielle saw, there was already a pile of eggshells feet deep. The bird was growing larger by the second, so that she felt as if she was watching some sort of bizarre live-action growth spurt, until it was the size of its adult counterpart just seconds before. She counted ten seconds before it disappeared and another egg stood in its place.

"As I'm sure you can tell, the Unspeakables working here study all manner of things pertaining to time and its effects," Holstone explained, moving away from the bell jar. Danielle found it difficult to tear her eyes away from the hummingbird, and Olive was staring down at it as though mesmerized. "I would advise you not to touch anything, as there is no telling what sorts of curses are placed on the objects for the unwary person."

The two girls reluctantly turned their backs on the hummingbird and followed Holstone through another maze of cabinets and shelves filled with clocks until they reached the back of the room. A plain black door was tucked away at the very end, and Danielle started toward it, but Holstone instead guided them through a more conspicuous brown door through which she found herself in another hallway filled with offices. She couldn't help but feel a small flicker of disappointment that they wouldn't be working in the Time Room.

"Here are your offices," Holstone said, pointing at two doors across from each other at the very end of the hall. "You will be starting off simple, by making sure that the clocks in the offices are working properly. They are closely inspected before they are sent to the main room, and be sure to wind them up with the incantation _Incipio_ before turning them to the time that is specified on their box. Put them in a neat pile near the door, and I will collect them when the day is done. There is food in the drawers for lunchtime, and your day is finished at four o'clock. Any questions?"

Danielle and Olive both shook their heads. Olive was the first to move, taking the office on the right. The door closed smartly behind her. Not daring to look at Holstone, Danielle ducked into her office as well, breathing a sigh of relief when she shut the door on him. Well, at least she wouldn't have to work alongside Olive as she'd been dreading.

The office was just as plain as Holstone's, and much smaller, with room only for a desk, chair, and the boxes that were stacked up against the walls. Danielle slowly lowered herself into the chair and stared at the blank wall, trying to organize her thoughts. Admittedly, she had been hoping for a more exciting job than simply winding up clocks…but she supposed that _someone_ had to do it, and the better jobs should be left to the more competent employees. Besides, Holstone had said that they would only be starting off simple, so perhaps if she proved herself he would allow her to do something less mundane.

With that cheery thought, Danielle pointed her wand at the boxes and they swung open, revealing piles of ornate clocks inside. She took a quick glance at the decorative gold clock on her desk—it was just before nine—and levitated the boxes over to her. Each clock had a different time stamped on the back, so Danielle made sure to wind it up to the correct time before tapping her wand against the face and muttering, " _Incipio!_ "

The clock burst to life with a shower of small sparks and began ticking merrily. It would have been a pleasant sound had the noise from the Time Room not still been audible. As it was, Danielle could hear the thousands of clocks ticking as if she was actually in the room.

She could already tell it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Six hours later, she _knew_ it was a long day. Her leg muscles were cramped from staying in the same position for so long. Her mind wandered to all manner of strange things, since the work was so repetitive. The pile of clocks she had wound up was growing larger so as to nearly fill the entire office, and to top it all off she was on her last box as well. The constant, loud ticking of the thousands of clocks was beginning to make her feel like she was going mad.

When she finally, _finally_ thought _Incipio!_ for the last time (halfway through the day she had switched to non-verbal spells) Danielle groaned and leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. Was this some sort of trick to see if she and Olive were fit for the _real_ job? There was no way she would be able to do that menial work day in and day out, no matter how much money she was making.

Several seconds later—or it might have been several minutes later; the ticking had turned into a constant buzz in her ears—she heard the door creak open behind her. "I see you've finished," Holstone's quiet voice drifted over to her. Danielle shot up so fast she nearly cracked her forehead on the edge of the desk.

"Y—yes, sir," she stuttered, trying to pretend she hadn't almost killed herself. Holstone strode over to the pile of clocks and inspected them, making a hum of what she assumed was approval, before turning back to her, his hand resting lightly on the handle of his wand.

"Good work, Miss Ashford," he said. "Miss Hornby finished her own job just before you did. I dismissed her early, so I feel it fair that I should dismiss you now as well."

Of course Olive had finished before her, Danielle thought with more than a hint of sulkiness. She stood up and opened her mouth to ask Holstone if she could do something different, but at his slight raised eyebrow she changed her mind and silently walked out of the office, feeling that she shouldn't give him even more of a reason to dislike her.

As she walked back through the Time Room, she automatically paused and hovered at the rows of Time-Turners. Was Tom still planning to travel into the future—or past—to fix whatever he so desperately wanted to change? Danielle had thought that since she'd destroyed the only remaining one outside of the Ministry, they would be safe, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Miss Ashford?" Holstone called from behind her. Danielle jumped and whirled around. He had silently appeared at the doorway and was watching her staring at the Time-Turners.

"Sorry, sir! I was just wondering if I'd forgotten something," she called lamely, before turning on one heel and fleeing the scene, mentally smacking herself on the head for her conspicuous behaviour.

She was all too happy to climb onto the lift and be propelled upward, back to the main Atrium. As Danielle slipped past the crowds of wizards and witches heading home, she felt a certain relief, as if she had just surfaced out of a dark abyss after being trapped there for a long time.

After she'd waited in line at the fireplaces for at least fifteen minutes, Danielle finally stepped into the bright green flame and tumbled out into her own flat. She picked herself up off the floor and collapsed into her bed with a sigh, imagining she could still hear the ticking of the clocks in her ears. Who knew that such a mundane sound could cause such frustration after being exposed to it for a prolonged period of time?

Danielle tried her best to forget about her job as she fed Ophelia and Alistair before preparing dinner for herself. As she sat at the table, staring at the candle flame flicker in front of her, she thought about how pathetic she must look, eating alone with her animals. Obviously, she couldn't complain, because it _had_ been her choice not to return to Hogwarts…but then again, if she had known what her job would entail, she would have gone with Tom in a heartbeat and happily spent the summer at Vauxhall Orphanage instead.

Just as she was finishing her meal, Alistair began squawking loudly. Danielle turned, confused, to him before realizing what had caught his attention: the fireplace had flared up, throwing cinders onto the carpet. She pushed her chair back and grabbed her wand from where it was lying on her bed, prepared to cast a curse at any intruder who was trying to Floo into the flat.

But the fire didn't glow green as it would have if someone was using Floo powder—instead, it glowed a bright orange and, to Danielle's astonishment, a head could be seen from inside the flames.

"Georgina!" she cried, dropping to her knees in front of the fire. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, Clara," her friend said sarcastically. "I can't talk for long—I'm in the Gryffindor common room and one of the first-years could come running down at any moment. I swear, they're even worse than last year's—"

"Is everything all right?" Danielle asked urgently. "Why do you need to talk to me?"

"It's…about Tom," Georgina said, somewhat hesitantly. "He's just…have you heard from him recently?"

"He's written me one letter, but it's only a week into the school year so I'm not that concerned," Danielle replied. "Is he acting strange?"

"A bit more than usual," the other girl admitted. "He always seems very preoccupied, and earlier today I caught him walking out of the girls' bathroom. Now, perhaps there's something that you haven't told me—and believe me, I'm quite happy not to know the specifics if that's the case—but I think that—"

"Was it the second-floor girls' bathroom?" Danielle interrupted, her heart kicking up a notch.

Georgina nodded. "Is there something special about that?"

"No," Danielle said quickly, although her brain was working in overtime. He must be visiting the Chamber of Secrets, although she had no idea why on earth he would want to go back. Hadn't Dumbledore told her years ago that the basilisk would not reawaken for decades? "Just forget about it, Georgie. There's nothing wrong, trust me." Of course, there was definitely _something_ wrong if he was entering the Chamber of Secrets, but she wasn't about to get into an explanation right then and there.

"All right," Georgina said, but she still looked doubtful. "I guess that's all, then. Sorry to bother you."

"No, you weren't bothering me," Danielle said ruefully. "I wasn't doing much anyway. Hey—listen—do you know anything about the Department of Mysteries?"

"All sorts," her friend nodded. "Why do you want to know? How's your new job going, by the way?"

"It's fine," Danielle lied. "I, er, can't tell you exactly what I'm doing because it's classified information, but let's just say that I'm working in the Time Room and Holstone told us that we're forbidden from going into any of the other rooms. Do you know what are in them?"

"Yeah—provided that things aren't different from what they were in 2050, the Unspeakables study aspects of life that even wizards can't understand," explained Georgina. "There are five main rooms studying thought, time, death, space, and love."

"Hang on," Danielle said. "There's a _love chamber?"_

"Yeah," Georgina giggled. "It sounds like the title of a bad song, doesn't it? There's also a room containing every single prophecy that has ever been recorded. I think it's connected to the Time Room, since I remember there was another door in the room when I was stealing a Time-Turner."

Danielle paused in contemplation. The plain black door she had seen must have led to the Hall of Prophecies. For a brief second, she wondered if a prophecy had ever been made about _her_ , and then decided she didn't want to know.

"So you're working in the Time Room, huh?" Georgina asked. "Fitting for you." She winked." It's pretty nice in there. Very bright, but once you get used to the light, it's quite beautiful. Unfortunately I was a bit rushed for time, no pun intended, when I snuck in, but I wish I'd gotten the chance to look around it more." Her head suddenly spun around and a look of terror appeared on her face. "I think I hear someone in the background. I gotta go. Well, it was nice talking to you, Clara." With a quick, hurried smile, her head vanished back into the fireplace. The next second the flames were extinguished completely, leaving Danielle crouching by herself next to the empty fire.


	6. Georgina's Message

Abraxas Malfoy was lounging in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room when Tom entered, his face impassive as usual. "Riddle," he said sharply, not wanting to appear overly friendly after their conversation on the train, but too afraid _not_ to greet him in fear Tom would reproach him.

"Abraxas," Tom nodded. He sat down on the armchair and regarded Malfoy with an unnerving intensity. "Tell me, what have you been up to lately?"

"What are you talking about?" Abraxas asked, frowning.

"I should think you know what I am talking about," Tom said in a low voice, casting a nonverbal Silencing Charm so the other Slytherins couldn't overhear their conversation. "Someone has reopened the Chamber of Secrets, and it is not me."

"Well, it could be anyone," Abraxas said, gesturing around the room. "Everyone knows that it exists and there's some sort of monster inside. Remember your little mishap in fifth year?"

Tom's eyes narrowed; he might as well have cursed Abraxas. The white-haired boy quickly backtracked, saying, "Well, I just mean that it's going to be almost impossible to find out who did it. I would tell Dippet before the teachers get a whiff of it and suspect you."

"I am not telling Dippet anything," Tom said stiffly. "I want information, and I want it _now_." The words were a silent threat, and the command was clear.

Abraxas nodded once. "I'll get as much as I can for you," he said, standing up to walk over to Cygnus Black, but not before muttering, "My Lord," under his breath.

* * *

Another week slowly passed, and Danielle still didn't hear back from Tom again. She'd written him twice more, each letter getting increasingly more desperate, but Alistair always returned back empty-clawed. This in turn prompted her to worry about him, stressing her out even more than she already was. Perhaps Georgina _had_ been right and there was something else going on…

At least she knew Dumbledore had gotten her letter: Holstone had told her, not entirely approvingly, that her background check had turned out fine and her "family" was indeed listed in the records. Danielle had absolutely no idea how Dumbledore had managed _that_ one, but she was extremely grateful all the same.

To her annoyance and disbelief, she was _still_ working on the clocks. Holstone had never mentioned alternate jobs, and every time Danielle tried to ask him if they would ever be doing something else (since she was sure that he had never spent eight hours a day saying _"Incipio"_ over and over) he always rebuffed her or gave her a withering glare. It made Danielle wonder if he had Olive doing something else, because she hadn't complained and Danielle was sure that she would have found the work just as trying. On the other hand, though, perhaps that kind of automatic, mindless job was perfect for her. It had to be on the same level as filing paperwork.

Danielle was thankfully taking her lunch break, absent-mindedly chewing on the bar of chocolate that she found in her desk every morning for lunch. She wondered if the Ministry had gotten the idea to put chocolate in the desk of their employees after seeing its positive effects after one was faced with a Dementor. Danielle figured that, after prolonged exposure, working at the Ministry and working alongside Dementors would have similar effects.

The door opened behind her, and she quickly threw the chocolate down on the desk, pretending she was working hard during her break—but instead of Holstone standing there, it was Olive. Danielle's hand closed around her wand and she automatically tensed, preparing to duel with her if need be.

But for one, Olive wasn't sneering or glaring at her. She looked almost…worried. "You can put down your wand, Ashford, I'm not going to curse you," she said. "I wanted to ask you something."

Danielle slowly put her hand down on the desk, but she didn't let go of her wand. "What is it?"

"How did you get this job?" Olive asked. "I mean, how did you find out about it?"

Frowning at the strange question, Danielle shrugged. "I talked to Dippet at the end of term last year and he said that Holstone had seen potential in me and wanted me to work in the Department of Mysteries for him. I only accepted because he would give me enough money to buy a flat."

Olive was silent for a moment before saying, "You made a big mistake."

Now Danielle frowned. What had gotten into that girl? "Sorry, Olive, I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I couldn't hear you over the memories of being tortured in fifth and sixth year."

"Merlin, Ashford, that was years ago," Olive snapped. "Get over that, will you? I've changed. It's not as if you were so angelic either. You pretended to be my friend and then set those spiders on me."

"I still don't see a reason to trust you," Danielle said loudly. "Okay, maybe we both did stupid things, but I'm not going to shake your hand and forgive you for everything—"

"I didn't _ask_ you to! I just wanted to know how you got employed here," Olive replied, instantly turning back into her snooty self. Lowering her voice, she continued, "Something's strange here. Holstone isn't acting right. Father told me that he's never seen him this focused."

"Yeah," Danielle said in spite of herself, frowning. So she wasn't the only one who had noticed his odd behaviour. "Is he making you wind up those clocks too?"

Olive nodded. "I know he only agreed to let me work here because my father is so influential. Don't look at me like that, Ashford," she said in response to Danielle's raised eyebrows. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am. Now, Father asked me to get to the bottom of this, and maybe if I figure out the answer he'll let me quit—"

"—So you're just using me to find out the information?" Danielle cut in. "Well, Olive, I'm as curious as you are, but I'm not going to be your spy. Honestly, I think our enmity is rooted too deeply for us to even consider being civil to each other."

Olive sniffed and crossed her arms. "Fine. But you're passing up a great opportunity. If _I_ ever find out why Holstone agreed to hire both of us, then I'm not going to tell you." She turned around to open the door again, but just as she left she tossed over her shoulder, "Just so you know, you're the one who's acting like a child now."

As soon as she had left, Danielle dropped her head into her hands, realizing that Olive was right. She probably should have taken her up on her offer—although she hated the other girl, if Holstone really was up to something, it would be easier for both of them to take it to the Minister than just one of them. And there was the possibility that Olive really _did_ know something crucial that Danielle didn't…

She quickly sat up straighter and turned to the closed door. "Hey, I changed my mind!" Danielle called, but there was no answer from inside Olive's office. So she had well and truly messed up then. She couldn't help but wonder how Olive's home life was going. Her son would be around two years old by now, and Danielle wasn't sure if Olive still had the baby or if he had been whisked somewhere off secret to protect her reputation. She had never spoken a word about it while at Hogwarts, and Danielle was sure that she would never find out the answer now.

* * *

She spent the rest of the day working more slowly than she usually did, fighting the urge to cry the entire time. She missed Tom, she missed Hogwarts, and she hated her job. Silently cursing Holstone and Olive for her misery, Danielle finally put her head down on the desk and cried.

So tuned out was she that she didn't even hear her office door open a while later. Holstone stood watching her for several seconds before he cleared his throat and asked, "Miss Ashford?"

Danielle froze—how long had he heard her crying? He would probably fire her right then and there. Slowly, she lifted her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve before turning around to face him. "Sorry, sir," she said shamefacedly, unable to look him in the eye. "I've just been having some…difficulties lately. Please excuse my unproductive behaviour."

"No, I wasn't coming to scold you," Holstone said. "I actually wanted to congratulate you. Both you and Miss Hornby have done a splendid job in helping to wind up those clocks, and thanks to you the job is finished."

Danielle sniffled, hardly able to believe her ears. "Really?"

Holstone nodded. "I am under orders to let you out early today, and also to inform you that you will be working in the Time Room itself starting tomorrow."

"I—I am?" she stuttered, not caring if she was sounding idiotic by repeating everything he said. "What am I going to be doing?"

"You are going to be working with Time-Turners," Holstone answered, and Danielle gave a quick, involuntary jerk of her head. Terrified that he had noticed, she coughed nervously, hoping to divert his attention.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "That certainly sounds interesting."

"I would presume it will be," he replied. "Now, unless you would like to work normal hours, you may leave."

"All right, sir," Danielle squeaked. "Thank—thank you so much." Holstone nodded coldly, and she slipped past him out into the hallway, noticing with relief that Olive appeared to have already left.

Of course she was ecstatic to know that she would _finally_ be doing something that sounded interesting, but that only begged another question: why was he letting _her_ work with Time-Turners? Surely there was much potential for things to go wrong, as she knew so very well. Again, she wished she had agreed to Olive's proposal.

Danielle turned over the thoughts in her head as she headed back through the Time Room and through the confusing circular room up through the lifts (thankfully there was no one else present) all the way to the Ministry Atrium, where she Floo'd back to the flat, having gone through the options from Holstone being a time-traveler as well and wanting to know if she was one all the way to him taking orders from some _other_ person who was a time-traveler, perhaps even someone from her time. Could someone follow a time-traveler back?

When she arrived back at her flat, all she wanted to do was make a cup of tea and not think about her situation, but of course fate didn't award that small miracle to her. She had just turned on the kettle when a blurred white shape soared in through the open window and landed in her field of view. Danielle stared in shock as a gleaming silver lion opened its mouth and said in Georgina's voice, "Tom is injured and was asking for you. Dumbledore wants you to come to Hogwarts as soon as possible. I'll open the fire in the Gryffindor common room at midnight."

"Injured?" Danielle asked, but the Patronus couldn't answer her: it disappeared in a puff of white smoke before her incredulous eyes, until the only things that remained were light particles of dust in the air.

She stood frozen for another minute before springing into action: it was only midafternoon, so she had nine hours to worry about what had happened with Tom: remembering Georgina's uneasy visit to her fireplace the previous week, she wished she had paid more attention. Perhaps that had been why Tom hadn't responded to her letters yet. What had he done? How could he possibly get himself into trouble while at Hogwarts? What was Dumbledore doing about it?

Danielle began to pace the room frantically, unable to contain her anxiety. She imagined Tom lying on a bed in the hospital wing while Madam Cutteridge fussed over him…why had he been asking for her? She gasped and clapped a hand in her mouth as the possibility that the curse had returned hit her. Could that happen? Did she need to talk to Helena Ravenclaw? But Georgina's Patronus had said that he was injured…she would have used "ill" if it was the curse, right?

She was going to make herself mad if she thought about it for any longer. Danielle flopped onto her bed, wishing she could find some way to get to Hogwarts earlier.

* * *

After a long, agonising wait, the clock finally chimed midnight. Danielle jumped off the bed, stuffed her wand into her pocket, and went over to the fireplace to grab a handful of Floo Powder. She tossed it into the fire, waiting until the flames flared green before stepping inside. "Gryffindor common room, Hogwarts!" she called, and her flat disappeared around her.


	7. Malfoy's Plan

After several moments of frantic spinning, during which Danielle closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and even so she wouldn't get dizzy, the movement finally stopped and she was thrown onto a thick, soft carpet. She pushed herself to her feet immediately, taking in the sight of the empty Gryffindor common room. The embers in the fire were burning low and the remains of an Exploding Snap game were still scattered on the table.

"Georgina?" she whispered as loudly as she dared, dusting off her robes and looking around the room. Hadn't her Patronus said that she would be waiting? Maybe she'd gone to the hospital wing to visit Tom and was late coming back…well, if that was the case, then Danielle might as well visit Tom now while Madam Cutteridge was asleep so that he could explain exactly what he had been doing in the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps he had gotten injured by the basilisk somehow. What if he was Petrified?

Suddenly anxious again, Danielle took one last look around the common room before hurrying over to the Fat Lady's portrait and pulling it aside. She stepped out into the dark hall and was just about to plead with the Fat Lady not to tell anyone about her visit when a jet of red light suddenly came flying at her from behind one of the pillars down the corridor. Danielle didn't even have time to pull out her wand before she collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

After waiting for a moment to make sure it had worked, two Slytherins peered out from around the corner, staring at the dark shape slumped on the ground, before Abraxas Malfoy turned to Cygnus Black and gave him an approving nod. With a flick of his own wand, Danielle was levitated into the air and came floating toward them, her hair just sweeping the floor.

"Now let's hurry before she wakes up," Abraxas instructed, and they sprinted down toward the Grand Staircase, Danielle floating after them.

They managed to make it to Myrtle's bathroom without being seen, and when they stopped at the row of sinks Abraxas made a horrible hissing noise in front of the one with the engraved snake. The sinks slid apart with a loud groan and he peered over the edge into the dark abyss. "Drop her in," he instructed Cygnus, who appeared more hesitant.

"But…won't she…" the younger boy began, looking almost nervous.

"She won't feel a thing," lied Abraxas. "Do it!"

With a scared glance backward to make sure Myrtle wasn't around, Cygnus lifted the spell and grabbed Danielle's arm before she came crashing down to the floor. He hauled her over to the hole, her head dangling over the drop.

"Feet first, you idiot!" Abraxas hissed. "It will ruin everything if her skull is smashed open. The basilisk can smell blood, remember?"

Of course Cygnus _didn't_ remember, but he nodded anyway and spun her around so that her feet were suspended over the abyss before letting go. Her body disappeared into the cavern with a soft whoosh—thankfully the moment of impact wasn't audible to the two boys.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Abraxas snapped, giving Cygnus a shove. "Follow her!"

Cygnus, not expecting the push, lost his balance and tumbled into the chamber, his screams echoing off the walls as he fell. He had just enough time to pull out his wand and cast a Softening Charm before he abruptly stopped inches from the floor, which looked to be covered with the bones of small animals.

Danielle's body was lying several feet away from him, and although it looked bruised and as if she had broken several bones, she was breathing and thankfully still unconscious. Cygnus hoisted himself to his feet and grabbed her hand, dragging her along carelessly behind him as he made his way deeper into the Chamber.

Abraxas came zooming down the pipe a minute later, landing gracefully on his feet. He strode ahead of Cygnus, leaping over the coiled snakeskin that was beginning to rot, and ahead into the main chamber, where the slumbering basilisk rested next to the statue of Slytherin.

"Leave her here," Abraxas whispered to Cygnus, who promptly dropped Danielle's arm. "Good job, Cygnus. Now I'll go get Riddle. Remember: if he questions you, _don't look him in the eye_."

"I won't," Cygnus promised, and the two boys quickly left the Chamber, leaving Danielle alone with the basilisk, which was, mercifully, still sleeping.

* * *

Abraxas burst into the seventh-year boys' dormitory ten minutes later, looking frantic. "Someone went into the Chamber of Secrets!" he yelled.

Gradually, the other boys began to wake up, drawing back their curtains and glaring at Abraxas. "Who cares?" one of them muttered.

"Can we send you in too?" another boy grumbled.

But Abraxas didn't care what they thought; he was only looking for one person's reaction. Tom was the last to react, pulling back the curtains around his bed and glaring up at him with an unfathomable expression. "Tom, you're Head Boy," Abraxas told him. "You have to investigate this."

"Don't be thick, Malfoy," someone sneered. "Riddle doesn't have the guts to do it himself."

"Quiet, Flint," Tom said briskly as he left the room to follow Abraxas, who was standing down in the common room, waiting for him.

"The Taylor girl told me that Ashford came to the castle to look for you and went into the Chamber thinking you would be down there," Abraxas said urgently, making himself look as beseeching as possible. "If she's found dead down there, you'll be blamed for it."

Tom's eyes narrowed, and Abraxas could sense his anger building. "Do not try to fool me," he said in a low voice. "She is not so idiotic as to go in there—"

"See for yourself, then," Abraxas said, shrugging. "Taylor told me where the Chamber was, and it's definitely open."

"How does she know where the entrance is?"

Abraxas shrugged. "She told me the row of sinks in the second-floor girls' bathroom, and after I'd checked I saw there was definitely something there."

Tom stared at the youngest member of the Malfoy family for another moment, his eyes flashing, before he abruptly turned on his heel and left the common room. Abraxas couldn't stop herself from smirking in victory before he slunk back off to the dormitory.

* * *

Danielle's first conscious sensation was that of something cold and slimy. She opened her eyes and saw the statue of Salazar Slytherin staring back at her, his stone eyes boring into hers. With a jolt of horror, she sat up, beginning to panic as she realized that she was in the Chamber of Secrets. How in the name of Merlin had she gotten there? The last thing she remembered was walking out of the Gryffindor common room. Had someone jinxed her and then dragged her down here?

But the how and why wasn't at the forefront of her mind as her eyes fell on the basilisk, its head inches from her foot. Danielle let out a tiny wail as she tried to move away from it, but a shooting pain shot through her arms and prevented her from moving. She was able to move her legs slightly, but on the whole they seemed nearly as damaged as her arms were. Had she fallen all the way down?

And then, sensing her movement, the basilisk opened its deadly yellow eyes and lifted its head.

Danielle closed her eyes as quickly as she could, ducking down and curling up into a ball. She knew there was absolutely no way that she could stand up, and even if she _could_ , she wouldn't be able to outrun the king of serpents. She waited for her life to flash before her eyes and for its fangs to sink in her skin, hoping her death wouldn't be too painful.

The entire Chamber seemed to rattle as it gave a loud hiss, sensing that its prey was close by. Danielle was shaking so hard she was almost dizzy, and she was sure that her heart was about to jump right out of her chest. All of her senses had completely disappeared, to be replaced by the sickening sensation of absolute and utter terror.

Then a white-hot, blazing pain shot through her leg, and she screamed as she felt the basilisk's fangs sink into her skin. She was writhing on the ground and screaming as she had never screamed before—it was surely tearing her apart—

And then the heavy weight of the basilisk suddenly disappeared, but the pain didn't lessen one bit. Danielle rolled over onto her side, feeling herself start to lose consciousness again. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she would be able to see her family again when she died. No one, not even wizards, had been able to discover what came after death, did they?

Somehow, through the agony, she registered a pair of cool hands on her arms and a low, smooth voice speaking in her ear. Danielle felt herself, unwillingly, being pulled back to reality, and she squinted open her eyes to see the side of a _very_ familiar face. "Tom," she breathed, somehow able to say his name. She had the feeling it was the only word she was able to say.

"Basilisk venom is poisonous," she dimly heard him reply, and if she had been more sentient she would have tried to decipher the tone of his voice. "Clara, I am… _sorry."_

Another surge of agonizing pain shot through her leg, and Danielle couldn't stop herself from screaming this time, grabbing his hand and squeezing it as hard as she could. He was kneeling on the floor next to her, her head in his lap. His hands were covered in blood and he was clenching a basilisk fang in his wrist. It took Danielle several seconds to realize it wasn't his blood. "It hurts," she managed to whimper, but she wasn't just talking about her leg now. The searing feeling was spreading up through her legs and into her bloodstream. The Chamber spun and began to fade out of sight again.

So this was it. She was dying. There were only a few minutes to live after being poisoned by basilisk venom, and her few minutes were surely almost up. At least she would die here, with Tom, instead of at the Ministry in one of the experiments Holstone would most certainly have made her take part in. She hoped that she had changed enough so that he would choose a path other than Voldemort—if there was an afterlife and she was able to follow what was happening on the mortal plane, she would surely haunt him for the rest of his life. The thought made her smile weakly.

"Tom," she breathed, the words scraping against her throat, "Don't—don't forget about me."

But he wasn't staring down at her anymore: he had turned around, focusing on something in the distance. Danielle saw something huge and red swoop toward them, but she didn't have the strength to roll out of the way.

It landed on the floor beside her, tilting its head and staring at her with unusually alert eyes. It was a bird, Danielle's muddled mind managed to figure out. A phoenix, to be more precise. But that was impossible. What was a phoenix doing in the Chamber of Secrets?

Both Tom and Danielle watched in shock as a single tear dropped from the striking bird's eye and land on the gash where the basilisk's fang had pierced her leg. Before her eyes, the wound began to shrink, the blood vanishing and smooth skin taking its place. Her vision began to focus again, and the pain began to recede from her body. She realized that she was shivering madly, her head resting against Tom and her hands curled around his wrists.

"Phoenix tears have healing powers," Tom murmured, and she heard something that sounded like awe in his voice. Danielle smiled weakly at the phoenix, which was regarding her with an extraordinarily intelligent gaze, as if it could understand exactly what she was thinking.

"Why are you down here?" she asked it, reaching down and feeling the spot on the leg where the gash had been. The sudden absence of pain was almost dizzying—she felt elated, but almost wary, not quite able to believe what had happened.

The phoenix let out a low, musical cry in return, as if trying to answer her. Danielle let go of Tom's wrists and sat up on her own, testing out her arms and legs. She felt good as new, if not still a bit terrified. Her eyes widened when she saw the monstrous form of the basilisk lying across the floor feet from where she was, its yellow eyes open and unseeing. Still, Danielle felt as if the eyes still had some power even in death, and she quickly looked away, back over at Tom, who was still holding the fang and glaring down at her. "You killed it?" she asked, although it was an obvious question.

"What else was I to do?" he replied, his tone clipped and short. He dropped the fang onto the floor, where it clattered across the wet stone, and Vanished the blood and grime from his hands. Now he was no longer looking at her with that flash of worry, but with extreme disapproval and even anger.

"Tom, this is all my fault," Danielle said, ready to scramble away from him if his rage took over. Even without the curse, he was still extremely powerful and extremely dangerous. "I shouldn't have listened to Georgina—"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped; his blue eyes seemed to have frozen over, boring into hers with a cold intensity that almost made her shiver.

"She told me that you were injured and in the hospital wing," Danielle explained. "But I must have been jinxed and brought down here, because the last thing I remember is leaving the Gryffindor common room."

Tom stared at her, and she could sense his brain trying to piece everything together. "Malfoy said that she told him where the Chamber is and that you had gone down there to find me."

"She told him where the Chamber of Secrets is?" Danielle asked, horrified. "That doesn't sound like something Georgina would do! Someone must have put her up to this—"

"I will put a Memory Charm on Abraxas and the Taylor girl," Tom replied, getting to his feet. The phoenix was still watching both of them closely, and let out a hum at his words. Both Danielle and Tom glanced down, and it spread out its wings and took off, flying gracefully in a low arc around the Chamber before taking a sharp turn to the exit and disappearing.

"Don't put a Memory Charm on Georgina!" Danielle cried, tearing her mind from the fact that a bloody _phoenix_ had just saved her life and then abruptly vanished. "She doesn't deserve it. Besides, she already knows where the Chamber was—it was common knowledge in 2050. Why she would tell it to Malfoy is another story."

Tom opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but before he could speak his head snapped around and he said, very quietly, "You have an explanation to give, Malfoy."

Danielle pulled out her wand and pointed it at Abraxas, who had appeared at the entrance to the Chamber, his white-blond hair the only thing visible in the dim light. "And what does Georgina have to do with this? She wouldn't lie to me by pretending Tom was injured."

"Actually, she did," Malfoy replied. He looked disgusted and even slightly nervous, his head moving between the dead basilisk and Tom, whose face was twisted in rage. "I used the Imperius Curse on her so she would persuade you that Riddle was in the hospital wing."

"Explain," Tom said, his voice so soft that Danielle could barely hear it. He began walking very slowly toward Malfoy, his wand still trained on him. The repulsion in Malfoy's face had melted into true fear as he stared at Tom.

"I opened the Chamber of Secrets," he explained. "I am the basilisk's new master. I wanted you to give me the power you'd promised, so I decided the best way to do that was murder your half-blood girlfriend and then you would have no one. Moaning Myrtle told me that she'd often seen you in that bathroom, so I investigated one day and found the sinks. Although I can't speak Parseltongue, I was able to get by after mimicking what I'd heard from you. I tamed the basilisk by feeding it animals I'd found on the grounds, and eventually I was able to win its allegiance. So I cast the Imperius Curse on the Taylor girl and she got Ashford to come to Hogwarts by telling her that you had been injured. Black and I Stunned Ashford when she left the Gryffindor common room and dragged her down here, hoping the basilisk would awake and kill her. Unfortunately, you arrived just in time." But by the end of his speech, he didn't look proud of himself. He looked frightened of Tom, which was, in Danielle's opinion, the smartest thing to feel.

"So where is Georgina now?" she asked loudly. She felt sickened that her friend had been hoodwinked by Malfoy, an unwilling pawn in his sick plan.

He shrugged. "I left her in an empty classroom. When she reawakens she should have no memory of the incident."

"And when _you_ awaken, you'll be in Azkaban!" Danielle snapped, prepared to cast a curse at him. But Tom had already taken action first. Abraxas was suddenly lying on the ground, paralyzed. Tom walked purposefully over to him, standing over his body with a look of utter disgust on his face.

"I am going to kill you," he announced, his low voice still echoing around the Chamber, giving the entire atmosphere an even more sinister feel. "But I am merciful—I will not torture you, since you _have_ been faithful throughout these years. After all, Lord Voldemort rewards his followers, doesn't he, Abraxas?" A horrible smirk twisted his features, and Danielle wasn't sure whether she should be more stunned at the fact that she'd only seen the likes of that inhuman smirk on the adult Voldemort or the fact that he'd used a contraction.

"Please—my Lord—" Abraxas stuttered, all traces of bravado completely gone, but Tom wasn't planning to spare him. Danielle quickly shut her eyes and turned away, not wanting to watch, but Tom's soft whisper of " _Avada Kedavra_ " didn't escape her ears, and the flash of green against her closed eyelids was clearly visible. She stayed rooted in the spot for a moment, praying that she would open her eyes and she would be back in her flat, the events of the past evening just a terrible nightmare. But she could still hear the steady dripping of water from the walls and she could still smell the rotten stench of the animal carcasses the basilisk had been feeding on. She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes, staring down at her filthy hands for a moment before slowly turning around to see Tom still standing over Malfoy's prone body. Luckily his back was to her; she was sure she didn't want to see the look on his face.

"Tom?" she whispered brokenly after a moment. When he didn't respond, she tried his name again louder, but he still didn't so much as turn in his direction.

Then another noise came from the depths of the room: "Abraxas!"

Danielle's eyes flickered over to where she saw, with a jolt, Cygnus Black, Alphard's younger brother, standing at the entrance to the Chamber, a look of utter horror on his face. Although he was a sixth-year, he was quite short, and could have easily passed for a third-year. His current expression made him look even younger, and although Danielle knew he had been in on the plan, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She wanted to tell him to run, that Tom was no longer Tom any more, he was Lord Voldemort; but her throat seemed to have choked up, and she couldn't make a sound.

"Did you kill him?" Cygnus demanded, and suddenly he was sprinting toward Tom, his eyes fixed on Abraxas. " _No!_ " Before Danielle could cry out a warning, he'd drawn his wand and was pointing it at Tom, his hands shaking.

But with a mere flick of his own wand, Tom Disarmed Cygnus and the younger boy's wand came flying into his hand. He pocketed it and strode toward Cygnus, who was quickly backing away. " _Crucio!_ " Tom spat, and the Chamber was filled with Cygnus's screams.

A wave of panic seized Danielle, its icy fingers clawing at her insides, and the room literally began to spin around her as she stumbled toward the wall, holding on to it for support. How could things have gone so wrong in such a short amount of time? Everything was spiraling out of control, and she was powerless to stop it. She hadn't felt so distressed since the battle with Grindelwald.

When there was a short pause between Cygnus's screams, Danielle stepped forward, ready to conjure up a Shield Charm between him and Tom, but someone had already gotten there first. She felt an overpowering rush of relief as she spotted Dumbledore striding toward Tom, and if the situation hadn't been so dire she would have run up and hugged him. She noticed with wonder that the phoenix from earlier was sweeping in a wide arc around his head. Of course—this had to be Fawkes, Dumbledore's legendary phoenix. No wonder he had saved her from the basilisk!

"Enough," Dumbledore ordered, and both Tom and Cygnus' wands came flying into his hands. Danielle was reminded of the time he had saved her at Vauxhall Orphanage, the first time she'd seen the curse take over Tom completely.

"Now," continued Dumbledore, and Danielle could see the disappointment on his face even from her distance, "I should think that _both_ of you have some very serious explaining to do." Conjuring two stretchers, one for a stammering Cygnus to climb up on, and another to lift the lifeless body of Abraxas while he kept his wand trained on Tom, who walked stiffly toward him, his emotionless façade already up. After a moment of hesitation, Danielle pushed herself away from the wall and limped over to them, trying to blink the tears back. She stopped several feet away from Tom—she didn't think she could handle being near him right then.

Without a word, Dumbledore turned around, the stretchers floating in front of them, and began to lead them toward the opposite wall. Danielle, through her queasiness, momentarily wondered what he was doing, until a portion of the wall crumbled away to reveal a tunnel slowly sloping upward. She hadn't known there was another entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, but since Tom appeared unsurprised she assumed he had known about it.

They moved single-file through the dark, wet tunnel, Danielle immediately after Dumbledore and Tom trailing behind. Fawkes had disappeared, but Danielle wished he was still there, as she was now utterly terrified of the new Tom—it was as if he had reverted to his self when he was under the influence of Vetus Periculosus. For a second, she'd wondered if the curse had somehow returned—but his eyes hadn't even displayed a hint of crimson. It was Tom's conscious decision. What an idiot she had been, thinking that the only reason he was evil was because of the curse. He had been abnormal all along, destined to be a murderer whether under the curse or not.

Danielle had never been so glad to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and she gratefully left the gloomy Chamber behind as they emerged into the white, tiled space of Myrtle's bathroom, but on the opposite wall from the sinks. Her heart skipped several beats as she saw Dippet and Madam Cutteridge standing at the entrance to the bathroom. Now she was reminded of the time in fifth year when she'd almost followed Tom into the Chamber, but had been stopped by the very same professors. It was turning out to be a night of déjà vu.

Madam Cutteridge gasped loudly when she saw Abraxas, her hands covering her mouth. "Merlin, Albus!" she gaped. "Is the boy—"

"Dead, yes," Dumbledore said heavily. "And Mr Black will need the hospital wing right away."

"Both of you, up to my office," Dippet instructed Danielle and Tom. She nodded weakly and stepped forward, the world still spinning around her. She knew she was going to cry, and no matter how hard she swallowed or tried to hold back the worse she felt. Then she thought of Tom's disgust at her displaying such an obvious weakness, and she barely refrained from running to the sinks and vomiting up her dinner.

But she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Dumbledore. Although he wasn't smiling or looking merry in the least, that simple touch comforted her more than anything else had, and gave her strength to walk forward without collapsing into a puddle right on the floor.

Madam Cutteridge, Cygnus, and the body of Abraxas went up to the hospital wing, while Dippet, Dumbledore, Danielle, and Tom went up to the Headmaster's office. No one spoke, and although Danielle had felt better briefly she was beginning to shake again as they approached the door.

But there was already someone waiting next to the gargoyles: Georgina was hopping from foot to foot and looking very worried at their approach. "Headmaster!" she called, sprinting up to them. "I was waiting for you—Malfoy put me under the Imperius Curse, and he tried to put a Memory Charm on me, but it wasn't strong enough."

Dippet held up a hand as the gargoyles moved aside at his approach. "Save the story for later, Miss Taylor. Miss Ashford and Mr Riddle have their own to tell as well."

Georgina's scared eyes met Danielle's on their way up the stairs, and she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Clara, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Danielle said. "Don't worry about it." But her words rang hollow, and they both knew it.

Dippet's face was like thunder as he sat down behind his desk, the majority of the force of his glare reserved for Tom. Danielle and Georgina stood close together next to Dumbledore. Fawkes the phoenix swooped majestically into the room and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, his eyes surveying the scene with an unsettling intelligence.

" _Now_ ," Dippet commanded, "Miss Taylor, you first."

"I was going back to the Gryffindor dormitory after dinner when Abraxas Malfoy cast the Imperius Curse on me. He forced me to conjure a Patronus telling Clara that Tom was in the hospital wing so that she would travel to Hogwarts. I have no idea what his motives were. Then after I cast the Patronus, he brought me to an empty classroom and tried to cast a Memory Charm on me, but it must not have been strong enough because after a while I could remember everything." Georgina spoke in a rush, staring down at the floor and refusing to make eye contact.

"So you had no intention of what Mr Malfoy was doing?" Dippet asked, his tone not gentle in the least. When Georgina shook her head, he turned to Danielle.

She didn't need a prompt to begin talking, and immediately spilled out, "After I came home from my job at the Ministry, Georgina sent a Patronus to tell me that T—Tom was in the hospital wing and that Dumbledore had asked me to visit him. I Floo'd into the Gryffindor common room and Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black Stunned me and dragged me down to the Chamber of Secrets." She hesitated, hoping this was enough, but Dippet raised his eyebrows at her and she blurted out, not daring to look at Tom, "When I woke up, the basilisk tried to kill me, but Tom killed it first and then Faw—Dumbledore's phoenix saved me. Abraxas came in and…and said that he was angry at Tom for ending their… _friendship_ so he'd concocted a plan to drag me down into the Chamber of Secrets and he wanted the basilisk to kill me…" She was crying now, hiccupping loudly. She couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye and she could hear herself as if from a distance, her shuddering breaths and the pauses between her words.

"Could someone get Miss Ashford a Calming Draught?" Dippet asked, and a moment later a potion was forced into her hands. Danielle drank it gratefully and soon her heart rate returned to normal and her vision cleared. Dippet was looking at her unsympathetically, Georgina seemed as if she was trying to smile but was failing terribly, Dumbledore looked as if he wanted to comfort her but was holding himself back, and Tom wasn't even looking at her at all. "Your explanation matches up with Miss Taylor's," Dippet continued once Danielle was composed, "Except for one thing."

 _Merlin,_ Danielle thought. _He's going to realize that I wasn't telling the entire truth about Tom and Abraxas and he's going to make me take Veritaserum and then Holstone will find out and I'll be sacked and forced to live on the street—_

But, luckily, that wasn't the question that Dippet was going to ask her. "How did he find out about the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? That was classified information."

"He saw me, sir," Tom spoke, his first words in what seemed like an eternity, and everyone's heads turned to him. "I knew that the basilisk had awoken, but I did not reopen the Chamber. When I investigated, it told me that I was not its true master and Abraxas saw me exiting the bathroom after that."

"So let me get this straight," Dippet began, crossing his arms, "Mr Malfoy opened the Chamber of Secrets to try to murder Miss Ashford, casting the Imperius Curse on Miss Taylor to lure Miss Ashford here?"

"Yeah, it's strange," Georgina said, sounding a bit braver now that it had been established she wasn't going to be blamed for being unable to resist an Unforgivable Curse. "You'd think it would be easier just to kill her himself."

Unfortunately, Dippet chose to ignore her witty remark, which Danielle would have laughed at had she not still been shaking. "I have no reason to doubt that any of you are not telling the truth, except for the fact that all of your stories are missing the crucial detail of how Mr Malfoy was killed and Mr Black severely injured."

Georgina let out a small gasp, and Danielle grimaced as she remembered that her friend hadn't known about his death. But she refused to utter a word, even when she felt Dippet's gaze on her. When her eyes unwillingly flickered over to Tom, whose head was held high and was staring straight at Dippet, he answered, without any emotion or remorse, "I killed him."

Dippet, to his credit, didn't look surprised, but Danielle noticed that he took a small step back (as if it made any difference) and pure fury crossed his face. "This is the final straw, Mr Riddle. I let you stay at Hogwarts even after you admitted to opening the Chamber of Secrets and killing Myrtle Pratt, because you were under a curse and you were taking potions to control it. Now that you're cured, you admit that you have murdered someone else in cold blood! As of today, Mr Riddle, you are no longer a student at Hogwarts."

There was a resounding silence in the office, and Danielle's blood ran cold. Everyone seemed to be overlooking the fact that Abraxas had opened the Chamber of Secrets with the intent of killing her and casting the Imperius Curse on Georgina, Danielle thought with a touch of annoyance, but then again, they couldn't very well press charges against someone who was dead.

Dumbledore was the first one to react. "Clara, Miss Taylor, I think it would be best if we were to leave the Headmaster to speak to Mr Riddle privately." Danielle and Georgina were all too happy to flee the scene, and as the three of them plus Fawkes made their way down the spiral staircase they could hear Dippet really begin to shout at Tom, including a threat about sending in the Minister for Magic and a possible trial.

Georgina and Dumbledore were both looking at her with pity in their eyes, but Danielle couldn't help but blame herself for their current situation.


	8. On Edge

Dumbledore ushered both of them into his office, where he immediately offered them his customary lemon drops. Danielle, needing a distraction, gratefully took one and popped it into her mouth, trying to concentrate on the sour flavour instead of the turmoil that was currently her mind. Georgina refused; she was instead staring at Fawkes, who had alighted on a golden perch that was now standing in the corner. "Is that a _phoenix?_ " she asked, her jaw dropping.

"Yes, his name is Fawkes. I acquired him over the summer," Dumbledore said, dropping into his seat and smiling affectionately at the bird. "He was behaving most strangely this morning—I was wondering where he'd disappeared to."

"The basilisk attacked me," Danielle told him, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of her leg where the serpent's teeth had sunk into it. "But I'd forgotten that phoenix tears have healing powers."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment, stroking his beard and watching Fawkes, who appeared to have fallen asleep, his head tucked under his wing. "I don't suppose you know what wand core Tom possesses?" he asked Danielle.

She shook her head. "I know Vol… _Voldemort_ had a yew wand, but I don't know the core."

"Well, I would not be at all surprised if it turned out to be phoenix feather from Fawkes," Dumbledore said. "That is the only reason I can think of why he went down to the Chamber of Secrets to save you. Phoenixes are very loyal and he can certainly sense when one of the wands he gave a tail feather to is in trouble. He only gave two feathers, but as far as I know the other one has not been claimed…"

"But he saved me," Danielle interjected, staring at the brilliantly coloured bird. "Not Tom…"

"Perhaps he felt that you were worthy," Dumbledore replied, reaching out to stroke Fawkes's head. "He would not leave you to die just because you were not bound to him."

"Where did you get him?" Georgina asked, but Dumbledore pretended to ignore that question, beginning to hum. Danielle wondered how he could hum when her entire world was falling apart, and she finally just sighed, hoping she didn't look as horrible as she felt.

"What am I supposed to do, Professor?" she moaned, raking her hand through her hair. "Tom went… _crazy_ down there. He was demanding that Malfoy call him Voldemort, and he didn't even look at me…it was like he had the curse all over again!"

"Old habits are very difficult to break," Dumbledore said gently. "The atmosphere of the Chamber and the fact that he had been tricked by one of his closest followers, once upon a time, had to be weighing heavily on him. At any rate, this is Tom's battle, not yours, Clara. He must take responsibility for his actions."

"But what if there's a _trial?_ " Danielle asked, her voice edging up into hysteria. "His reputation will be ruined forever!"

"As if it's not already ruined," Georgina scoffed. "Everyone important knows that he opened the Chamber. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the students found out as well." Her eyes suddenly widened, and she grabbed Danielle's arm, meeting her gaze. "Don't you _dare_ think about using a Time-Turner to change this!"

"I wasn't until you mentioned it," grumbled Danielle. "But, sir, what's going to happen to Tom?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I don't know, Clara," he said sympathetically. "But right now, I would suggest that you go and rest. I will send Holstone a note explaining your absence from work tomorrow—or, should I say, today."

Danielle swallowed hard and nodded, trying to force a smile onto her face. "Thank you, Professor."

"I am sure everything will work out in the end, Clara," Dumbledore told her as she stood up and walked over to the fireplace. "I will keep you updated on what is happening. Are you sure you don't need the hospital wing?"

Danielle's stomach lurched as she imagined being stuck in the same rom as Cygnus and Abraxas' body. "No, sir. I think I'll be fine on my own," she said. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, she was about to toss it into the flames when she remembered something, and turned back to face Dumbledore. "Er, thank you again for tricking Holstone into believing my background check," she told him.

"Oh, it was no problem," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly. Georgina waved at Danielle, and she managed to grin weakly back before stepping into the flames.

Her mind was spinning with all that had occurred in the past two hours, and she fully expected to be up the rest of the night replaying the scenario over and over again, but instead she flopped down onto the bed as soon as she arrived back and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The effects of the Calming Draught must have still been at play.

* * *

When Danielle opened her eyes, it was mid-afternoon the next day and surprisingly sunny. She yawned and threw the covers back, momentarily wondering why she wasn't at work and then suddenly remembering all that had happened to her. She literally stopped in her tracks as she thought about what had happened to Tom—Dumbledore had promised to let her know what was going on. Perhaps she _should_ have gone to the hospital wing and pretended to be injured so that she could speak to him about what was happening. Yes, he had killed Abraxas…but it was justified, after all Malfoy had done to _him_. But the look on Dippet's face had suggested that the consequences would be severe.

Danielle stared at the fireplace in contemplation, wondering if she should pay Dumbledore a visit. But her stomach growled impatiently before she could make up her mind, and although she hated to delay knowing what had happened, she knew she wouldn't be able to think straight if she was hungry, so she decided to prepare breakfast before making any decisions. Just as she was sitting down to eat, however, there was a loud knock at the door.

Heart in her throat, Danielle hesitantly walked over and opened it a crack, feeling a rush of relief when she saw the bright red hair of Alyssa and Dylan. "What are you doing here?" she demanded as they walked past her into the flat.

"Georgina owled us with an explanation," Dylan explained, his blue eyes round with worry. "Are you all right?"

"Of course she's all right—she's here, isn't she?" asked Alyssa. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and Danielle noticed she was fidgeting nervously. "But yeah, we wanted to make sure that you hadn't thrown yourself off the side of the Astronomy Tower or anything—"

" _Lyssa_ —"

"No, I'm fine," Danielle said, but the words sounded artificial even to her own ears.

"So," Dylan began, "Malfoy, huh? I can't believe Riddle actually did him in…"

"It was in self-defense," Danielle snapped back, more harshly than she'd intended. When Dylan looked slightly hurt, she relented, "I'm sorry. I'm just so afraid right now. I don't know what they're going to do to Tom, even though it wasn't his fault that Malfoy reopened the Chamber."

"Forget Tom, how about _you?_ " Alyssa asked. "You were Stunned, dragged down into the depths of hell, and then nearly killed by a basilisk only for your lover to kill the person who was _really_ behind it all."

"Now that you say it like that, it sounds even worse," Danielle groaned. "By the way, d'you know where Alphard is? I wanted to apologize to him about his brother…"

Dylan and Alyssa exchanged a worried look that was not missed by Danielle. "Clara, er…Alphard's a bit…cross with you right now," Dylan began.

" _Cross?_ " Alyssa snorted. "He's absolutely livid! I'm sorry, Clara," she said earnestly as Danielle's heart sank, "But for some idiotic reason, my fiancé believes that you should have done something to prevent Cygnus from being tortured…apparently he'll be fine, but Alphard doesn't see it that way…"

"No, Lyssa. It _is_ my fault," Danielle said. "I should have known there was something strange about Georgina's Patronus. And I should have intervened when Tom was torturing him."

"Clara, stop blaming yourself," Alyssa replied firmly. "None of this is your fault. Alphard will come around soon enough. You already have enough to deal with without this."

Danielle blinked several times, confused at Alyssa's sudden concern. She was about to ask her friend if she had an ulterior motive when she suddenly remembered Olive, and her mouth fell open. "Oh, Merlin," Danielle groaned, her entire body slumping. "Olive is going to torture me while I'm sleeping. Abraxas…"

Her friends shared another conspiratorial glance. "Maybe you should take a break from work for a while," Alyssa began.

"No, I can't!" Danielle cried. "Holstone is looking for any excuse he can to sack me! If I take more than one day off he'll replace me."

"I don't think he would, since he went to such lengths to give you the job," Dylan said, trying to cheer her up. "Besides, we all know that Riddle will find some way to weasel out of whatever punishment Dippet was going to give him."

"I know," Danielle sighed, "But that's not what I'm concerned about. It's just...after he'd killed Abraxas, he acted different. He wasn't even looking at me…"

For the third time in five minutes, Alyssa and Dylan shared a look. Danielle was beginning to feel like she was being left out, and asked, "Why do you keep doing that? Are you making fun of me or—"

"No, we're not," Alyssa said in a long-suffering tone. "But think about it for a moment, Clara. Tom hasn't seen you in weeks, and he's back in the environment he was in before you came along. It's easy for him to turn into the isolated loner he used to be."

"So you're saying it's my fault that Tom killed Abraxas?" Danielle said, and then sighed when she saw their faces. "I'm sorry I'm taking out all my stress on you guys. I just…I don't know what to do."

It was clear that neither Alyssa nor Dylan had any idea what to do either, but their presence was nevertheless a great comfort. Danielle made them lunch, and she had almost begun to smile again when there was another light knock at the front door.

For a split second, she hoped it was Alphard, come to tell her that he didn't blame her after all, that it was just a misunderstanding—but when she opened it, it was Dumbledore who was standing there. Danielle stared at him in shock for a moment, thousands of questions racing through her mind. Just as she was about to ask him the most obvious one, he said, "I hope you do not mind that I am inconveniencing you now, Clara. Ah—I see you have visitors."

"No, it's fine, Professor," Danielle said, trying to conceal the fact that her palms were sweating and her eyes had widened in fear. "Come in."

Dumbledore stepped inside, offering a warm welcome to Alyssa and Dylan. "This seems like a very nice place to live," he said pleasantly, gazing around the flat and bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes. "I obtained the address from Miss Taylor," he explained to Danielle.

She nodded impatiently. "Sir, what exactly did you come here for?" she asked, expecting the worst.

Dumbledore's pleasant expression turned suddenly solemn, and he reached out to place a hand on Danielle's shoulder. "Clara, the Headmaster called in the Minister for Magic today to discuss possible consequences for the situation that occurred last night. Both the Headmaster and Ministry agreed to keep the incident as quiet as possible, since the basilisk is indeed dead and Mr Black is begging that nobody be notified of his role in the scenario, although just between you and me, I suspect that he doesn't want his family to find out about it. Mr Malfoy's death is being referred to as an accident, and the Minister declined that they will need either you or Miss Taylor for questioning."

"But what about Tom?" Danielle demanded, hardly able to feel reassured at his words.

Dumbledore's face fell, and with it her heart sunk, right down into her feet. "Mr Riddle," he began, very quietly, "has been sent to Azkaban."


	9. The Lesser Evil

" _Azkaban?_ " Danielle, Alyssa and Dylan yelled in unison.

Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes very serious. "I tried to stop the Headmaster, but he was adamant."

Danielle shrugged his arm away from her, wanting nothing more than to scream as loud as she could. "How _could_ he?" she gulped. "Tom was his favourite student…"

"Clara, you must understand that his trust was severely damaged when he learned of Mr Riddle's curse," Dumbledore answered. "Even when he was cured, that did not change. This was the breaking point, and he truly believes that is for the good of Hogwarts if Mr Riddle is locked up."

"So is he there now?" Dylan asked, since Danielle was unable to speak.

Dumbledore nodded. "He was instructed to pack his things earlier today. I felt as if you had a right to know, Clara."

Danielle wasn't sure what she should feel. She was partly angry, partly confused, and partly disbelieving—how could things have changed so quickly? "You mean they're not even taking what Malfoy and Cygnus did into account?" she asked. "Tom doesn't deserve this! He was just—"

"Human nature always looks for a scapegoat," Dumbledore said quietly. "And they cannot very well blame a dead boy. Cygnus is playing the innocent card, claiming that Mr Malfoy tricked him. Although you and I know very well that is not true, it appears the Headmaster is willing to overlook that fact."

"How long are they going to keep him in there?" she demanded, a slow rage at Dippet and the Minister beginning to burn inside her chest. "He'll find a way to get out, anyway!"

"Not if they snapped his wand," Alyssa said, very softly. Danielle whirled around to face her, feeling her heart sink all the way into the ground.

"They snapped his wand?" she asked, her voice constricted. It sounded almost pitiful, and she wished more than ever that this was just a horrible nightmare.

The look on Dumbledore's face said it all. Danielle had had enough—she needed to act. "What floor is the Minister for Magic's office on?" she asked.

Alyssa and Dylan both looked shocked. "Clara, you can't just barge into the Minister for Magic's office and demand that he let Riddle out," Dylan said reasonably. "Besides, Dumbledore said he wants to keep things quiet so Hogwarts doesn't get a bad reputation, so he might pretend that he doesn't know what you're talking about."

"I don't care," Danielle exclaimed. "Sir, _please!"_ She stared brokenly at Dumbledore, hoping he would understand how much it meant to her.

Luckily, Dumbledore's mustache was quivering as he answered, "I believe the Minister's office is on Level One."

"Thank you, Professor," Danielle said gratefully. Without another word, she ran over to the fire, threw a handful of Floo powder inside, and called, "Ministry of Magic Atrium!" before jumping in. The last thing she saw was Alyssa and Dylan's astonished faces and Dumbledore's very unsurprised one.

* * *

The employees were just beginning to leave when Danielle tumbled in. She pushed past the crowds of brightly dressed wizards and witches, searching for anything that might be a clue as to where the Minister's office was. Finally, just as she was about to ask someone, she spotted a staircase nearly hidden from the Atrium, near the lifts. Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she bounded up it several steps at a time, already thinking up excuses in her head should anyone spot her.

She emerged into a hallway lined with several doors, similar to the one she had been working in at the Department of Mysteries, but Danielle could already tell that these were no ordinary offices. The carpet was royal blue velvet and the walls were lined with portraits of distinguished-looking wizards—previous Ministers for Magic, she assumed. Most of them grumbled or looked suspiciously at her as she flew by.

At the very end of the hallway stood the largest door of all—paneled with gold and an elaborate plaque that read _Lorcan McLaird, Minister for Magic._ Just as she reached the door, there was a shout from behind her and she turned to see two wizards pursuing her, wands trained at her heart.

"What do you think you're doing?" the burlier one demanded. "You can't just run up to the Minster's office like that—"

"I need to speak with him," Danielle implored. "It's urgent."

The other one scoffed, and she was sure that he was about to curse her anyway when the Minister's door swung open and Holstone was glaring out at them. Danielle didn't even have the strength to wonder how he always seemed to pop up everywhere—the only thing on her mind was Tom. "Miss Ashford, what a surprise," he drawled, although he didn't sound surprised in the least. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Do you know her, sir?" one of the guards asked, lowering his wand.

"Unfortunately," Holstone replied, looking scornfully at Danielle. "Come inside," he ordered her. "I don't have much time."

She couldn't resist giving the two guards a triumphant look as she followed him inside to the Minister's office. It was a wide, open room, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering spectacular views of London and portraits of the British countryside adorning the walls. In the very centre of the room was a mahogany desk, even more imposing than Dippet's, behind which sat a middle-aged wizard with graying hair and expensive-looking robes. Danielle's heart pounded a bit as she met the steely eyes of the Minister for Magic himself, and she began to regret her hasty decision. She shyly glanced away from him at the fireplace, suddenly wishing she could Floo back to her flat and discuss a more cautious plan with Dumbledore.

"Your Honour, this is Clara Ashford, one of the new interns in the Department of Mysteries," Holstone explained. "She is also the one who witnessed the events in the Chamber of Secrets last night."

Danielle turned to him, alarmed. How did he know that? Had the Minister told him?

Lorcan McLaird gave her a once-over before leaning back, seemingly uninterested. "I presume you are here to speak about the events of last night," he said in a bored tone. "If you are, Miss Ashford, I have already stated that I would like to keep this situation private. Hogwarts has a reputation to uphold, you see—"

"But Tom—Riddle—killed the basilisk," Danielle tried to explain. "He might have killed Abraxas Malfoy, but he did so in self-defence. He saved me."

"That does not excuse the behaviour that the Headmaster informed me about," McLaird interrupted, still in the same uninterested tone. "He should have been sent to Azkaban the moment it was discovered he was afflicted with Vetus Periculosus. He also tortured Cygnus Black—"

Danielle couldn't take it any longer. "You're not even willing to hear my story out?" she asked. "You're more concerned about the Dippet and Hogwarts' reputation than the truth? Is that why you sent a boy to Azkaban for no reason?"

"Your Honour," Holstone interrupted, "While we are here, I have suspicions that I would like to suggest to you—that is why I was in your office in the first place. I would like to inform you that I believe Miss Clara Ashford is a time-traveller."

Danielle's mouth fell open, and she stared up at Holstone, unable to process what she had just heard. "What do you mean?" she choked.

McLaird, for his part, looked just as shocked. "I fail to understand why you believe that," he said. "Besides, we were discussing the situation at Hogwarts last night."

"The situation at Hogwarts is over with," Holstone said firmly, and not at all in the manner one would expect an employee to be talking to his superior. "I have harbored my suspicions for long enough, Minister McLaird."

Danielle's palms began to sweat, and she actually turned back toward the door, searching for an escape route. But she was trapped, and she had absolutely no idea what was going on. "Sir—" she began, not sure whether she was speaking to Holstone or McLaird. But at that moment there was another knock at the door and a witch poked her head in.

"Minister, the Muggle Prime Minister is becoming apprehensive," she informed, paying no attention to Danielle or Holstone; it was as if they weren't in the room. "He saw a group of underage wizards making a cat tap-dance today and is currently investigating the situation."

McLaird sighed and shuffled the papers on his desk. "Very well. I shall take care of that," he told the witch. She gave a faint smile and quickly left the room. The Minister turned his attention to Holstone, saying, "I trust you to do whatever is necessary with the girl. If anything arises, let me know."

Holstone nodded and led Danielle out of the room. Her stomach was churning and she felt like she was about to vomit. She wanted to fire a million questions at Holstone, but she couldn't speak with the guards surrounding them on both sides.

How did he know she was a time-traveller? Why was the Minister for Magic so blasé about sending a boy to Azkaban and to let Holstone do "whatever he wanted" with her? Why hadn't Dippet questioned her and Georgina more?

Unfortunately, Danielle couldn't think of possible answers to any of the questions as Holstone led her into the lifts and down to his office. She avoided eye contact with him, staring down at her feet and hoping she would find a way to get through this.

Still without a word, Holstone brought her to his office, whence he immediately shut the door behind her. At least he didn't tell her to have a seat. "You look terrified, Miss Ashford," he said. "Is it because I have wrongly accused you, or because I was _right?_ "

Danielle's mouth was too dry for her to answer. To her absolute horror, Holstone reached into his pocket and brought out the vial of Veritaserum. "I guess we will find out," he said snidely. "If I give you this entire bottle—no matter how proficient you are at resisting it—your innermost secrets will be spilled out to the world."

Now Danielle was sure that he was doing something illegal. Of course he had to have an ulterior motive for giving her the job. The Minister had to be in on it as well—that would explain why he appeared to trust Holstone so much. Perhaps, she realized with a jolt, Dippet knew about it as well. Could they have hatched some sort of plan to send Tom to Azkaban?

But she didn't have any time to dwell on the matter, as Holstone had conjured a glass and was pouring the Veritaserum into in. In one last desperate attempt, she cried, "Sir, please don't!"

Holstone stopped and regarded her for an agonizingly long time, her heart thudding a petrified rhythm. "Fine, Miss Ashford," he said, and his tone could only be described as _dangerous._ "I will give you a choice. Either you take this Veritaserum right now, or you will be sent to Azkaban until you relent."

It took Danielle at least a minute to fully understand what he was saying, and when she did manage to speak her voice sounded pathetic, like a child struggling to understand its punishment. "You're…sending me to…Azkaban?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," Holstone replied. "Only if you choose not to take the Veritaserum. I have power, as you can see, Miss Ashford," he said, smirking in a truly sadistic way.

Danielle stared blindly at the Veritaserum, utterly torn. There was no escape now. If she took it, she would risk spilling her secrets to Holstone, who might even use the information to send her to Azkaban anyway. But if she _did_ choose to go there, Dumbledore would eventually get wind of it, no matter how much they tried to cover it up, and he would be able to get her and Tom out. And if she did manage to see Tom in the prison, perhaps they could figure out a way to escape.

She swallowed hard, and, after summoning up Tom's face in her mind, looked at Holstone and said, "I will go to Azkaban, but since you are sending me there illegally, I have one condition."

"What is that, Miss Ashford?"

"That you don't snap my wand in two," she replied.

She expected Holstone to disagree, but surprisingly, he didn't argue. "That sounds like a fair promise, since I will not keep you in there forever, but unfortunately, I have no one to deliver your wand to, since of course this will be kept secret."

Danielle couldn't believe one of the Ministry employees was speaking about the corruption of the government right in their offices, but she was ready to have the conversation. "Well, then, give it to a Muggle," she suggested. "I have a close Muggle friend who I assure you will not ask any questions if he is delivered a wand."

Holstone stroked his beard. "Fine," he said. "What is his name?"

"Billy Stubbs."

* * *

There was a certain air of impossibility about the entire situation. In the past twelve hours, Georgina had been put under the Imperius Curse, Danielle had nearly been killed by a basilisk, a phoenix had saved her, Tom had killed Abraxas, Dippet had sent him to Azkaban, Danielle had learned the Minister for Magic was corrupt and that Holstone somehow knew she was a time-traveller, and she herself was being sent to Azkaban.

After she had reluctantly handed over her wand to Holstone, unable to do anything other than trust that he would deliver her wand to Billy, he'd led her out of his office and outside the Ministry onto a bustling London street. Danielle had no choice but to follow him as he led her to a deserted alleyway before holding out arm. She reluctantly grabbed it, bracing herself for Side-Along Apparition.

When they landed, she could already sense that they were far away from where they had been before. The laughter and sound of cars had disappeared, to be replaced by the roar of waves lapping across the shore. Danielle opened her eyes and then just as quickly closed them against the sea spray slapping her face.

They were standing on a tiny island, hardly larger than the size of Hogwarts, surrounded by rocks on all sides. An imposing, daunting gray tower stood at the very edge of the island, with an overgrown path leading up to the entrance, which was guarded by an iron gate that had to be at least fifty feet tall. Danielle was reminded of Nurmengard as she mutely followed Holstone up the path. As soon as she saw the Dementors guarding the gate, she felt despair begin to creep in.

"Someone will find out that you did this," she hissed to Holstone, her anger bubbling up inside her again along with her last vestige of hope.

"Oh, they might," he said. "But even if they do…they won't believe it. And you _did_ ask for this."

Danielle gritted her teeth, prepared to fire an insult back at him, but just as she opened her mouth she felt an unnatural cold begin to creep up her spine. She involuntarily shivered, and all memories of Tom rushed out of her mind. She had no wand to defend herself or cast a Patronus Charm.

Holstone was speaking to the Dementors, but Danielle was no longer paying attention. A numbness was spreading through her, and her feet felt heavy when she tried to move them. Blurred, indistinct memories began to form in her mind, and the image of Andy falling to the ground with a flash of green light suddenly burst into her mind.

"No," Danielle gasped as the Dementor drew closer to her. She couldn't fight back—she was powerless—Holstone was laughing now, sounding truly demonic…

And suddenly, she stopped struggling. Just like that. The numbness had taken over her, and it felt like her heart had turned into a rock. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised if it had stopped beating altogether.

They were shuffling up to the prison, Danielle flanked by a Dementor on either side, but she couldn't turn and run. It was like they were anchoring her to the ground, forcing her to comply. Even the thought that Tom was in there somewhere didn't cheer her. It didn't matter how long she spent in Azkaban, she knew, because the only measure of time that mattered in the godforsaken place was eternity.

Now they were inside, and Danielle kept her head down as they shuffled past rows upon rows of cells. Some prisoners—new ones, she presumed—called out to her, but most of them just stared at her with empty eyes. She didn't recognize any of them, but a voice deep in the back of her mind told her that these must be Grindelwald's spies and his guards that hadn't escaped capture when Dumbledore had defeated him back in June.

The Dementors floated up a staircase, and Danielle followed them, having to grip onto the banister to make sure that she wouldn't fall off. Her legs seemed to have turned to jelly, and as they passed a window, she seriously considered jumping out of it. At least her death would be quick that way.

When they got to the top floor, her eyes landed on an empty cell at the very end of the row. As Danielle stared at the place where she would spend the next undetermined amount of time, a movement in the cell next to it caught her attention.

Something thudded in her heart—happiness?—but it was quickly absorbed by the Dementors as she recognized Tom's face behind the bars. He was sitting on the hard mattress, and it looked like his head had been in his hands. He wore a gray uniform that washed his already pale face out even more, and there was something dull about his eyes, as if part of him was gone.

But Danielle's own eyes locked on his as the Dementors marched her past, and she felt something akin to courage. "Tom," she breathed, and she knew he heard her whisper.

But all too soon, the Dementors shoved her into the cell, and the door clanged sharply shut behind her as a bowl of slop was pushed in alongside her. Danielle could no longer see Tom, and when she was sure the Dementors were gone she slumped down onto her own mattress and buried her face into her hands, wanting to cry but knowing that the tears wouldn't come.

* * *

Billy Stubbs had just returned home from work when there was a loud tap at the window. Frowning, he dropped his bag and walked over to the balcony to see a large barn owl with a package tied to its talons fluttering in front of him. He was used to getting letters from Clara in this manner by now, but the owl was unfamiliar. He opened the window anyway, and the owl flew in with a rush of feathers.

Trudging over to the couch, Billy ripped off the packaging to reveal a plain box, with no letter or note attached. He opened the top to reveal a slim, black stick. When he reached into the box, his hands came up empty. Confused, Billy tried again, but he couldn't seem to curl his fingers around the wand. After five minutes of frustration, he was forced to conclude that he couldn't touch it. This unnerved him and he turned it over, trying to wonder why Clara would send him such a thing. Then their last conversation popped into his mind, and his eyes widened. She'd said she was a witch…and this looked like a wand…

But he knew that she wouldn't give him the correct answer if he asked, and he definitely wasn't speaking to Riddle. So he would have to send a letter to someone else if he wanted the truth. Who else had she talked about? There were a pair of twins she'd often mentioned…what were the names? Dylan and Alyssa?

Billy grabbed a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen and scribbled down,

_Hello,_

_My name is William Stubbs, and I am one of Clara Ashford's friends. She's often mentioned you, and I wanted to ask you a question since I don't think she'd give me the right answer. She told me she was a witch the other day, and I didn't believe her, and now someone (I don't know if it was her or not) sent me something that looks a lot like a wand. I was wondering if you would explain this to me._

_Sincerely,_

_Billy_

He folded the letter up and stuck it into an envelope before attaching it to the mysterious box and tying it to the owl's claw. "Er, can you bring this to either Dylan or Alyssa? I'm not sure of their last names…but they're twins." He'd gotten used to the fact the owls seemed to know what he was saying—or at least Clara's did. He wasn't sure about this one.

With a squawk, the owl swooped back out of the open window, leaving Billy to scratch his head in bewilderment.

* * *

After Clara's abrupt departure, Alyssa and Dylan had left her flat, with Dumbledore the only one seeming unconcerned. Dylan wanted to know what had become of Clara, but had to admit he was more than happy to let the Transfiguration professor deal with the problem on his own.

He had met up with Felicity for a date later that evening, and now they were strolling through Muggle London hand-in-hand. He smiled down at his girlfriend, whose brown hair was pulled up into a bun and her green eyes were bright and sparkling. She grinned back at him, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "You look sad today," she said in her thick French accent. Dylan had met her parents several times, and they'd often wondered why they weren't engaged yet. The truth was that he did love Felicity and would be delighted to marry her, but he wasn't sure what _his_ parents would say. He'd told them that he'd broken it off with her, but now that Alyssa was their poster child for pure-blood marriages they might go easier on him.

As he pondered the pros and cons of proposing to her right then, Felicity suddenly gasped, jerking his attention away from his musings. "Look!" she called as an owl flew down towards them. Dylan's heart almost stopped beating altogether as it dropped a package on his head before flying off again.

Felicity giggled and grabbed the package from where it had landed on the ground while Dylan picked up the letter. As he was reading Billy's letter—this must be the friend Clara often talked about—his girlfriend made a strange noise. "What is it?" Dylan asked, already fearing the answer.

She stared down at the object in the box, her disbelieving gaze traveling up to him.

It was Clara's wand.


	10. Azkaban's Weakness

Georgina was sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, staring intently at the flames but not really seeing them. She was wracked with guilt over what had happened with Clara and Tom—she had nearly killed Clara, gotten Tom in trouble, and although Abraxas had been the one who had started it all—he was dead because of her.

She knew, logically, that it was nearly impossible for her, or anyone for that matter, to resist the Imperius Curse…but if she had put up more of a fight or cursed him instead of asking what he wanted, she might have been able to prevent it. Now Clara would certainly blame herself, and she had no idea what had happened to Tom—she hadn't seen him at all in classes that day. She hoped the Minister for Magic hadn't been called, although she wouldn't put it past Dippet to do such a thing, stringent follower of the rules he was. She bet that he'd been a Slytherin.

Sitting back on the couch, Georgina levitated a stack of cards one of the first-years had left sitting on the table as she tried to ignore her guilt. It was left over from her previous life, back when she'd been made to feel inferior because her family was "illegitimate". They were like the rotting branch of their family tree, and she was sure that the Malfoys had wanted to cut off the branch altogether. That was why she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for her great-great-grandfather's death; the events had already been set in motion that would ensure her birth. From what she had encountered of him, he'd been a vile person anyway.

But she hated focusing on the melancholy. Her entire pretense had been that of a smart-aleck, quick-witted girl who didn't dwell on sadness. Thinking too long about her past made her feel fragile and helpless, as if the wounds she tried to hide were suddenly exposed for everyone else to see. With a sense of relief, Georgina pushed the guilt and memories of her family out of her mind and leaned forward, letting the cards fall back onto the table in a neat pile. Writing to Skender would surely make her feel better.

Just as she'd Summoned over a quill, the fire suddenly flared up, spitting out sparks onto the floor. Georgina, sensing what was about to happen, quickly glanced around the common room to make sure no one else was present—luckily, it was well past midnight—before hurrying over to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of it. She was just in time to see Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard climb out, Alphard gallantly helping up Alyssa, who arrived last.

"What are you doing here?" Georgina demanded. "D'you realize how angry Dippet is going to be if he finds out?"

Alphard was the only one with the decency to look ashamed. "But at least you're here," he pointed out. "We were planning to cast a Memory Charm if anyone spotted us."

"Oh, good thinking," Georgina said sarcastically. "You know, you can't just burst into here like this, especially when you're ex-Slytherins—"

"Georgie, I know that you're still upset about what happened with Malfoy, but you were just a pawn in his game," Alyssa said in that infuriating way that still upset Georgina, placing a hand on her arm that was supposed to be comforting but just ended up being irritating.

"Don't call me Georgie," she replied. "I don't like it when you say it any more than when Clara says it."

"Maybe we'd better scarper, Lyssa," Dylan said, trying to push his sister away from range of Georgina's wand. "She's in a bad mood."

"Hang on," she interrupted. "You're not going anywhere without telling me why exactly you came to Hogwarts in the middle of the night."

"Merlin, when did you become such a goody-two-shoes?" Alyssa muttered.

 _Since I had the Imperius Curse cast on me,_ Georgina thought sourly, and suddenly realized that she was acting exactly like the Head Girl she was. Disgusted by this thought, she tried to convince herself that she was just stressed and exhausted from everything that happened.

"We came to talk to Dumbledore," Alphard told her. "Earlier today, Dylan received a letter from a boy at the orphanage where Clara stayed during the summers asking if we knew anything about what he had gotten in the mail." He glanced over at Dylan, who held up a wand that Georgina instantly recognized as Clara's.

"So someone sent this boy her wand?" she asked slowly, trying to remember. Clara _did_ have a friend at the orphanage whom she seemed to be close with…what was his name again? Bobby? Benny? Billy…yes, that was it. Billy Stubbs.

"It looks like it, "Dylan said. "We came to talk to Dumbledore…because…because we think Clara's in Azkaban."

Georgina stared incredulously at them for a moment, her eyes flickering back and forth between each completely serious face. "Azkaban?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"So is Tom," Alyssa replied starkly. "Dippet and the Minister decided to send him there earlier today—er, yesterday. They're trying to keep it secret, but Dumbledore told us—"

"So the bloody _Minister for Magic_ sent an eighteen-year-old boy to Azkaban for murder in self-defence?" Georgina cried. "That's ridiculous! I can't believe Dippet would do something like that. And what are they going to tell the rest of the students? Surely they'll eventually realize that the Head Boy is missing."

"I have no idea how they're going to cover it up," Alphard answered. "We went to visit Clara this morning, and Dumbledore told us what had happened. Then she went a little bit, er, berserk and Floo'd to the Ministry. It's highly unlikely that she lost her wand…she must have found some way to deliver it to William Stubbs."

"But we don't know why she would send it to him instead of one of us," clarified Alyssa. "And we're not certain that she's in Azkaban, either…but it seems like the only plausible explanation why she wouldn't have her wand anymore."

"So you're off to see Dumbledore, then," Georgina said, a bit shaken. "Fine, then. I'll escort you to his office. If anyone sees us, I'll tell them that you have my permission to be here." Sometimes being Head Girl _did_ come in handy.

The four of them clambered out of the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady's annoyed grumbles, and hurried down the silent, shadowy hallways to the Transfiguration professor's office. Georgina found herself next to Alyssa, who looked unusually anxious, balling her hands together in worry. "I'm just so ecstatic that Alphard decided to come along," she was babbling. "He was a bit miffed at Clara earlier for what happened with Cygnus—his brother, you know—"

"Yes, I know," Georgina said. "I was the one who told you." But Alyssa continued talking as if she hadn't heard.

"—But he came round eventually. He's not one to hold grudges."

Georgina strongly suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Clara was possibly in Azkaban rather than Alphard getting over his anger that quickly, but she pretended as if Alyssa's words were the truth as she listened to her babble on. When Alyssa was nervous, she tended to chatter even more than her usual frenetic rate, so Georgina patiently pretended to listen to her, hiding her relief when they got to Dumbledore's office.

The four of them shared an uneasy glance when they halted in front of the door. "Who's going to knock?" Dylan finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Oh, come on," Alyssa scoffed. "It's Dumbledore we're talking about. He wouldn't punish us even if we walked right into his office and started going through his things." As if to prove her point, she stepped forward and rapped loudly on the door four times, calling, "Professor! We need to talk to you!"

"Shush, Lyssa!" Alphard scolded her, clapping his hand over her mouth. "D'you want the whole castle to hear you?"

She pushed his hand away and glared at him, fully prepared to launch a verbal tirade, but thankfully, before she could begin, the door swung open and Dumbledore peered out at them. Georgina noticed that he was still dressed in the magenta robes he had been wearing during the day and that there were dark circles under his eyes. Why was he still awake?

"Good evening, you four," he said in a more muted tone than usual, but nevertheless still kind. "I presume something extremely important happened so as to warrant the three of you coming back to Hogwarts?"

Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard nodded.

"I should have guessed," Dumbledore replied, stepping aside to let them in. Thankfully, they all piled into his office and stood in a nervous huddle by the door while he sat down behind his desk. Fawkes let out what sounded to Georgina like an irritated cry at their entrance, apparently disliking being woken up.

"Professor," Alyssa began earnestly once the room was quiet, "We think Clara's in Azkaban."

Dumbledore did not look surprised in the least. "What makes you think that, Miss MacDougal?" he asked, his tone sounding almost conversational.

Dylan jumped in to explain the events of what had happened that day, handing Dumbledore the wand. Apparently he had been forced to explain to Felicity about the wizarding world, and although she was understandably shocked and had told him that she needed time for it to sink in, he was confident that their relationship would continue. (At least _someone_ was getting a happy ending, Georgina thought sullenly). The Transfiguration professor picked it up and examined it for a moment, a serious look in his eyes. "Yes, this is most definitely Clara's wand," he said quietly. "I am quite certain that the story you have told me is true, especially since I have contacts in the Ministry who have indeed confirmed that she is in Azkaban."

Although Georgina had expected it, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise all the same. "But they can't do that, sir," she said desperately. "Doesn't there need to be a trial of some sort? What could she possibly have been sent to Azkaban _for_?"

"Mr Riddle was sent without a trial," Dumbledore reminded her. "I do not know why she was sent there, Miss Taylor. But my contacts informed me that Holstone himself had the Minister's permission to do, in his words, 'whatever he wanted' with Clara."

"So maybe Holstone has an ulterior motive," Alphard spoke up, speaking slowly. His eyes were fixed on the dark window outside. "He had to have offered Clara that job for a reason, and he got on the Minister's good side, so when he saw the chance to send her to Azkaban, he leapt on it…"

"That is a very good hypothesis, Mr Black," Dumbledore said approvingly, his bright blue eyes twinkling. Alphard grinned sheepishly and ducked his head, smiling instead at Alyssa. "But I am afraid we cannot do anything about it at the present moment. It is currently after two o'clock in the morning and even I need sleep, as I have been up all night trying to sort things out. Clara and Mr Riddle will be fine for the time being. I will speak to the Minister in the morning and question him about what happened."

"So you don't want us to do anything?" Alyssa asked, sounding dejected.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Just go home and I will contact you in the morning if I discover anything new. Your concern for Clara is very touching. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that you, Mr Black, and Mr MacDougal could be honorary Gryffindors." He chuckled at what Georgina presumed were their indignant looks, although it sounded weary.

Sensing that Dumbledore was beyond exhausted, she cleared her throat and took a step toward the door. "Come on, guys," she said, sending a quick apology to Clara in her head. "We should let him get some rest."

Slightly reluctantly, Alphard, Alyssa and Dylan made their way back to the door, each casting beseeching looks back at Dumbledore as they did. Just as Georgina opened the door, he cleared his throat and held Clara's wand out to Alyssa. "You might need this," he said pleasantly as she took it, confused. "Were you aware that the more Patronuses a group casts, the more Dementors they can drive off?"

Alyssa and Dylan frowned, clearly not understanding, but Georgina and Alphard shared a triumphant glance, Georgina already feeling relieved that Dumbledore had a plan. He wouldn't leave them like that, after all.

* * *

The next morning, McLaird promptly called Holstone into his office. "So what did you do with the girl?" he asked absent-mindedly while sorting through a stack of paperwork.

For the first time, Holstone looked almost uncomfortable, but he quickly smoothed out his expression into something more neutral before he replied, "I gave her the option to either take Veritaserum or go to Azkaban."

For a full minute, McLaird stared at Holstone as if an extra eye had suddenly sprouted on his face. "You did _what?_ " he asked very quietly.

"She refused the Veritaserum, so I sent her to Azkaban," Holstone repeated. "I instructed the Dementors to stay away from her."

"Vikram Holstone, why in the name of Merlin would you do such a thing?" McLaird demanded. "I have trusted you for _years_ , enough to let you make decisions without my consent, and now you're telling me that you sent an innocent girl to Azkaban just because you suspect she's a _time-traveler?_ I expected more of you—"

"Minister, I saw her wearing a Time-Turner last year!" Holstone interrupted.

"You saw her wearing a Time-Turner," echoed McLaird. His face was turning red now, his eyes narrowed into slits. "And you did not even bother to ask her about it or to see if it was real?"

"She is in love with Tom Riddle!" Holstone shouted. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were both time-travelers and they were doing something illegal, messing up the timeline—"

"Vikram, I would suggest you check yourself in to St Mungo's, because you have not been the same ever since you started teaching at Hogwarts!" McLaird thundered. "I will send orders to bring the girl back to London and order a full trial for her right now." He stood up and walked over to the door, but not before ushering Holstone out. "Vikram, I am deeply sorry to do this, as you have been my confidante for many years, but you are no longer an employee of the Ministry. I will inform the Hornby girl that she will have to find other work to do."

Holstone didn't protest, nor did he show any signs of disquiet, but his dark eyes flickered around McLaird's office once more, unfathomable hatred swimming in their depths.

* * *

It was as if she was wallowing in a sea of despair. Danielle didn't even have the strength to move, or even to think. She was only aware of her immediate surroundings—a hard, narrow bed, and the bars two feet from her face. The Dementors had sucked her strength as well as her happiness. Her thoughts came in random, disjointed patterns, and she felt as if she was simply _there,_ existing, instead of living. She couldn't help but wish for pain—at least that would mean she _felt_ something.

She had no idea how long she'd been in Azkaban for. She wouldn't be any more surprised if someone had told her it had been ten months instead of ten hours. Her memories all overlapped into one long, gray stretch. Colourless, apathetic, lifeless.

Danielle could see, dimly, the outline of the Dementors hovering at the end of the hallway. She couldn't even feel relieved that at least they weren't right in front of her cell. Perhaps, a thought slowly swam through her muddled mind, they were in front of Tom's…

The name momentarily jerked her out of her endless misery, and she fought to keep it in her brain as the foggy clouds that were covering her mind slowly parted to reveal her most recent memory: that of Tom in his cell, staring up at her.

After another minute or so, that one thought dissolved into another: Tom was around somewhere. He was close to her cell.

It was astonishing, really, how slowly Danielle's mind was working. Inferences that would normally take her a few seconds to jump to were now taking her a few minutes. Her brain was processing things much more slowly, but at least it was thinking of _something_.

So…if Tom was close, Danielle might be able to see him. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would be able to figure out some way to get out. What had she even been thrown in Azkaban for, anyway? She couldn't remember, until her brain managed to dig up a flash of Holstone's sneering face.

Danielle winced—that one memory had sucked all the previous hope out of her, and she fought to hold on to the image of Tom, waiting until Holstone's face had disappeared before letting out her breath. After a minute of deliberation, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, noticing that she was now wearing the dull gray prison uniform, although she had no memory of putting it on. Or perhaps she did. It was very difficult to hold on to more than one conscious thought at a time.

Moving slowly, Danielle stumbled over to the bars and gripped onto them. She tried to hold herself up, but her arms were shaking. She slumped to the ground, unable to summon any strength. Above her, she saw the looming black form of a Dementor standing over her cell, its breathing loud and rattling. She stared blankly up at the gaping hole of its mouth, unable to move or even feel anything other than the boundless despair surrounding her.

When she was next aware of the world, it was much darker in her cell—what little light there had been before was now completely extinguished—and she was still lying in the same position. The floor must have been filthy from the centuries of prisoners that had languished in this very spot, but Danielle didn't have the energy or motivation to move at all. She felt as if she was trapped in a space where there was only fog and the horrible, choking hopelessness…

Dimly, she felt someone grab her and heave her up onto the bed—the motion was so quick that it took her several seconds to process. She was back in a sitting position now, her back against the cold stone wall and her wrists bound together. Danielle blinked several times as her sluggish brain registered a face in front of her. The fog began to recede, and her mouth fell slightly open as she whispered, "Tom?"

He was standing in front of her, his cheekbones hollow and prominent, purple circles under his eyes. She hadn't seen him look so terrible since he'd been ill with the curse. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I can't remember," Danielle said truthfully; although the desolation had momentarily lifted at seeing him, she knew it could come rushing back with a fury at any moment. "How did you get in here?"

"The Dementors have gone to see someone who has just arrived," Tom explained. "We need to get out of here."

For the first time in what felt like a century, Danielle felt her lips curve upward in a half-smile. He spoke so frankly, as if breaking out of Azkaban was something wizards did all the time. "And how do you propose we do that?" she asked.

"Clara, just because I do not have a wand does not mean I cannot perform magic," Tom replied, hauling her to her feet. Danielle found it difficult to stand, and had to grip onto him for support, leaning against his side.

"It was Holstone," she told him, as the fog began to clear from her brain. The closer she was to him, the better she felt. Of course, this was because being in his presence lessened the effects of the Dementors in the same way a Patronus would, coupled by the fact that they were gone for the moment, but Danielle wouldn't realize that until much later. "He said he suspected that I was a time-traveler and told me that I had the choice to either take Veritaserum or go to Azkaban."

Tom, for once, seemed unable to hide his shock. His mouth opened slightly, and, ridiculously, Danielle thought of the last time she had kissed him, just before he'd departed for Hogwarts. Had that really only been two weeks ago? It felt like twice the time had passed. "That is ridiculous," he finally said. "He has no authority to do that—"

"Well, apparently he does," Danielle replied. "Now, how _exactly_ are we going to get out of here?"

"If I can get past the wards at the very edge of the island, we will be able to Apparate," Tom explained. "With the Dementors distracted, it will be easier to leave."

Danielle was about to ask him what he was waiting for when she saw, with a jolt, the unnatural fog begin to creep up again. She glanced up at Tom to make sure he had seen the same thing, but he was gone before she even had the chance to ask, leaving her alone in her cell.

The Dementors had returned.

Mentally cursing, Danielle slumped back to the floor, trying to make her face as vacant as possible. She waited for the dullness to creep back up on her, but she felt… _normal_ again, although she knew the Dementors were close. It was Tom, she realized. He'd given her hope, and knowing that he was so close, the Dementors couldn't take that from her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle saw not one, but two Dementors floating in front of her cage. Had they come to bring her food?

But her question was quickly answered when she saw a third figure: it was one of the guards from the Minister's office, but he didn't look nearly as intimidating now. In fact, he was slightly green and shaking as his eyes darted nervously between the two Dementors flanking him.

"Miss Ashford," he said, "The Minister for Magic requests that you attend a trial back in London as soon as possible. There are very serious charges placed against you by an employee of the Ministry and, although you were brought to Azkaban illegally, the rules still remain and you will sit in front of the Wizengamot later today."

Danielle's blood ran cold, and whatever respite she had felt earlier instantly disappeared. "The…the Wizengamot?" she stammered. She had no idea how she would get out of this one, especially if Holstone had stumbled upon some proof that showed that she was indeed a time-traveler. "But…but…I…"

"Please just cooperate," the guard told her, and for the first time she realized that he looked like he was about to faint. Danielle took a cautious step out of the cell, hoping Tom had heard their conversation. Maybe he would be able to escape without her and get somewhere safe. She hoped he would contact Dumbledore somehow, although she knew that wasn't very likely. He would believe he could do everything on his own.

She tried to glance into his cell as they shuffled by, but the Dementor on her right side blocked all view, and she didn't dare to glance backward as they walked through the prison, Danielle's and the guard's footsteps ringing loudly.

It was a freezing autumn day outside; the thin uniform Danielle was wearing did little to protect her, and she wrapped her arms around herself as a wicked wind blew past them, sending clouds of dust up into their faces. Waves crashed against the shore, the sea unusually turbulent. The sky was covered in a large mass of gray cloud, and she couldn't even see the sun shining weakly through it.

The guard stopped once they had reached the edge of the prison, and Danielle reluctantly reached out to grab his arm. She stared up at Azkaban one more time, hoping desperately that Tom would find some way to escape, before everything disappeared.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Alyssa said for the hundredth time. "You want the four of us to go to Azkaban and use our Patronuses to help Clara escape?" She, Alphard, Dylan, and Georgina were gathered in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed into a large common room with four large beds, three with emerald green blankets and one with a red blanket. A fire blazed merrily in the corner, and there were four plush armchairs sitting in front of it. They had spent the night there, and the remains of breakfast were scattered across the room. Georgina figured Dumbledore would make some sort of excuse for her absence from Head Girl duties and classes for the time being.

"I _told_ you," Georgina repeated patiently, "It's what Dumbledore wants us to do! Didn't you hear that suggestion he made?"

"Maybe he's gone mad," Dylan suggested.

"Nah, mate, he was always mad," Alphard answered. Georgina and Alyssa glared at them while the two boys snickered.

"Can we _please_ have an actual conversation here?" Georgina asked. "This is a serious matter—"

"Of course, I'd forgotten you were Head Girl. I wouldn't want to go against your orders, ma'am," Alphard said, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Dylan laughed.

"Listen, if _you_ were the one in Azkaban, would you want _us_ joking around instead of trying to rescue you?" Alyssa snapped. "Clara and Tom need our help."

"Oh, _Tom_ ," Dylan mocked in a high-pitched voice, imitating his twin. "I'd thought you'd gotten over that infatuation years ago, Lyssa."

Georgina glanced down at the empty bottles of Firewhisky scattered on the tables—the boys had taken advantage of the Room's seemingly endless supply of items they'd wished for. " _Aguamenti_ ," she whispered, and two icy cold showers suddenly dropped right onto Alphard and Dylan, soaking their clothes.

"Merlin, Lyssa! What gives?" Alphard yelped, glaring balefully at his fiancée, who had her hands on her hips and a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Be careful, or I'll make it fire next time," she warned. "Now, if you two _children_ aren't going to cooperate, then Georgina and I are going to go to Azkaban ourselves."

Dylan and Alphard shared an uneasy look, their eyes still slightly unfocused from the Firewhisky. "That sounds like a great plan," Dylan said sarcastically. "I reckon our only problem now is going to be how exactly we plan to get there. It's Unplottable, and I'm sure not going to get on a boat and sail around looking for a bloody island."

"Yes, that's what we've been trying to figure out," Georgina sighed. "But if Dumbledore suggested it…"

"Well, maybe we should ask him, then," Alphard advised, sinking down into his seat and closing his eyes. "Really, Lyssa, you're starting to sound exactly like a Gryffindor."

"There's a difference between being a Gryffindor and wanting to help your friends," Georgina interrupted before it could turn into a full-scale row. "Now, listen, all we need to do is find a way to get to Azkaban—" There was a sudden bright flash of light in the middle of her sentence, and the statue of a small gold phoenix suddenly appeared on the floor, about the size of one of their palms.

For a long moment, the four of them stared blankly at each other. "What the—" Dylan began, but just as he was about to swear loudly it suddenly glowed blue.

Georgina leapt into action at once. "It's a Portkey! Grab it!" she instructed. The others didn't need telling twice: as soon as everyone's fingers touched the phoenix, there was another bright flash of light and they found themselves in a completely different place.

It took them a minute to become oriented with their surroundings, and Alphard was the first to recover: " _Azkaban,"_ he breathed, staring up at the stone fortress. "That was a bloody Portkey…could the Room have somehow created it when Georgina said that we needed one?"

"I dunno," Alyssa said uncertainly, slipping her hand into his. "But it was in the shape of a phoenix, so perhaps Dumbledore sent it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Georgina replied darkly. She glanced around for it, but it seemed to have disappeared. " _Accio Portkey!"_ she cried, but nothing happened.

"Oh, Merlin," Dylan groaned. "Are we stuck here forever now?"

"No, we can't be," Alphard muttered. "People have to get on and off this island _somehow_ …"

But nobody was listening to his musings; the remaining three were all staring, wide-eyed, at the mass of Dementors that had come to investigate their presence.

Remembering what Dumbledore had told them, Georgina called, "Quick, cast a Patronus before they can get to you!" It took all of them a few tries, but eventually a silver lion, bear, hawk, and raccoon charged at the Dementors, repelling them backwards.

"It'll only last for a few minutes, so we have to hurry," instructed Alphard, beginning to race toward the building, but Alyssa stopped and held him back. Another Patronus—this one a snake—had appeared in the midst of the others, attacking the Dementors as well. While the creatures were attempting to fight off the five Patronuses, Tom Riddle came striding out of the prison. Although he was looking emaciated and worn, he still carried himself as proudly as he ever had.

"Riddle! What are you doing here?" Georgina demanded.

"I could say the same about you," replied Tom, searching each of their faces coldly.

"Did you just cast a Patronus without a wand?" Dylan asked. "That's…that's bloody impossible, that is!" He swore under his breath, unable to express how awed he was with Tom's powerful display of magic.

But Alyssa was more focused on the task at hand. "Where's Clara?" she asked immediately.

"She has left," Tom said. "The Minister has ordered her back to London so she can participate in a trial."

"A trial for what?" inquired Alphard, but Tom didn't answer.

"I presume you have come to rescue her?" he said, a smirk playing at his lips when they nodded. "Well, I am afraid you are several hours too late. I do thank you for the distraction, however. I was able to leave while they were occupied."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Georgina asked. "We have to get back to London!"

"What about the Anti-Apparition wards?" Dylan said.

"They are easy to get around if one knows the correct way," Tom answered, with more than a hint of arrogance. "I will lift them for exactly thirty seconds. I trust you are all more adept than Clara at Apparition?"

"Wow, she really _must_ love you," Alyssa muttered. "If Alphard ever talked about me like that, we'd be over before he even finished speaking."

Tom's dark blue eyes fixed on her, and she unconsciously shivered, gripping her fiance's hand tighter.

"We have to go soon!" Dylan said urgently, breaking the sudden frosty atmosphere. "The Patronuses are fading!"

With one last unfathomable glance at Alyssa, there was a loud crack and Tom Disapparated. It didn't take long for Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard to follow suit.

* * *

Danielle was Apparated directly into the Ministry (she had no idea how _that_ was possible) and hustled into a small, windowless room several floors below the main entrance. The guard hadn't spoken to her at all after escorting her down the lifts to what she assumed was the very bottom level of the Ministry, even deeper underground than the Department of Mysteries. She'd known, from her sketchy knowledge back in her classes in 2011, that the courtrooms were here, but she'd never given it much thought until now.

After shoving her inside, the guard had handed her a piece of bread and a glass of water before heading out again. There had been a pair of plain black robes lying on the chair, the only piece of furniture in sight, and after Danielle had changed into them she'd eaten her meager meal, suddenly aware of how hungry she had been.

Now that she was free of the Dementors' influence, she could start to think properly again. She'd felt like she was in Azkaban for ages, although in all likelihood it had only been around twelve hours. She wondered why the nameless guard, not Holstone, had been the one to fetch her.

But how could she stand trial? _Why_ did she have to stand trial? It was surely unlikely that Holstone could have proven she was a time-traveler, and even less likely that the Minister for Magic himself would believe one of his employees. But the guard had said, quite clearly, that she would have to testify in front of the Wizengamot. Would they question her about Tom?

Her thoughts became more and more desperate as she continued to ponder the whirlwind that had been the past two days. Now she would give anything to work in the Time Room again, with boredom and Olive Hornby her only problems.

Danielle wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door to her holding room opened. She looked up, expecting to see the guard or Holstone standing there. But her mouth dropped open when she saw Tom Riddle himself, dressed in his normal robes and looking composed.

"Clara, what is the matter?" he asked after Danielle just stared at him. "Has Azkaban robbed you of your already limited mental capacities?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Danielle knew he was making a joke, as displayed by the slight glint in his eyes, but she could only stammer, "Is this a trick? What are you doing here?"

"For the umpteenth time, you underestimate me," Tom replied. "Your friends traveled to Azkaban to rescue you, and while the Dementors were distracted I escaped and Apparated back to London. They have more than likely realized I am missing right now."

"So you came to get _me?_ " Danielle screeched.

"I was not going to leave you alone," Tom replied, grabbing her arm and forcibly pulling her into movement.

Numbly, she followed him out of the room and he instantly cast a Disillusionment Charm on both of them. Danielle could hardly breathe as they traveled up a flight of staircases instead of the lift and emerged out into Muggle London. Blinking at the sudden daylight, she turned to Tom as he lifted the Charm. "You—I—bloody—insane—" was all she could say.

"You are welcome," Tom said curtly, and began to walk down the street. Danielle trotted after him, a million questions zipping through her brain.

"Wait—how did you cast that spell?" she asked. "Don't you have a wand?"

"Not anymore," he said. "It is too dangerous to go to Ollivander's, not when we are both fugitives."

Not caring who was watching, Danielle grabbed his hand and stayed close to him as they continued down the street to Diagon Alley. She was safe, Tom was with her, and that was all that mattered.


	11. On Thin Ice

Danielle had absolutely no idea where Tom was taking her, but she was still in so much shock over what had happened that their whereabouts seemed trivial. What did it matter where they were, as long as they didn't have to worry about being thrown into Azkaban and that she didn't have to take part in a trial?

Of course, there was still the matter of Holstone's suspicions…but Danielle didn't want to dwell on that. She would ask Dumbledore—he would surely sort it out. Perhaps part of her, at the time, realized how foolish a thought that was, always counting on Dumbledore to solve her problems…but, to her, it just seemed logical to assume he had a solution for everything, although she did know that that was impossible, even for him.

" _Clara,_ " Tom hissed, jerking her back to the real world, "Do not look so guilty!" His eyes flickered to the Muggles around them, none of whom seemed to be particularly interested in two teenagers hurrying down the street.

"Well, _sorry_ ," Danielle whispered back. "It's a lot to take in!"

Tom's hand tightened around hers, and they locked gazes for a moment before he pulled her into the slightly less safe atmosphere of Diagon Alley, where there was a greater chance that they would be noticed. "You used to be a passable actress," he murmured into her ear. "Now you cannot even look neutral."

"That's because I haven't had practice at it!" Danielle retorted. "I haven't needed to act in a long time!" Dropping her voice even lower, she continued, "I'm so used to being Clara Ashford that I don't even need to consciously think about it anymore. And it's not as if I have any practice hiding my emotions from _you!_ "

Tom turned sharply left into the entrance of their building, refusing to even grace her statement with an answer. Danielle clenched her jaw tightly and ground her teeth together; she had been through such a whirlwind in the past days that she felt as if she was about to snap at any moment. Adversity had not strengthened her; rather, it felt more like it had weakened her.

She trudged angrily after him all the way up to the seventh floor, where their door swung open at once. Alyssa stuck her head out into the hallway, her features relaxing into a relieved smile. "Thank Merlin you made it here!" she exclaimed, pulling Danielle into the flat. "I was beginning to worry that you'd been caught."

"Lyssa, what are you doing?" Danielle asked, throwing her arms around her friend. When she drew back, she saw Dylan, Georgina, and a very awkward-looking Alphard farther inside. "Tom told me you came to Azkaban to rescue me—"

"Well, we tried," Georgina explained. "Dumbledore gave me the day off, and we knew that you'd been thrown in Azkaban unfairly, so we decided to rescue you…but you'd already been taken back to London by the time we got there."

Danielle's heart swelled with gratitude as she stared around at each of her friends. She tried to find some way to express how much they meant to her, but no words could accurately convey the depth of her gratitude.

While she was struggling for something to say, Alphard spoke up. "Listen, Clara, I shouldn't have blamed you for what happened to Cygnus," he said quietly. "You couldn't have done anything."

Danielle, relieved that he'd forgiven her, looked over at Tom; he'd been the one to torture him after all. But there didn't appear to be any animosity between him and Alphard; in fact her friend laughed quietly and continued, "I'm not saying that I'm happy with Riddle for torturing him, but he should have known not to mess with Riddle. Cygnus…he tried to curse me when I visited him in the hospital wing yesterday. Said that I was a filthy blood traitor and that if he ever laid eyes on me again, I would be dead before I even knew he was there."

She almost couldn't believe his words; if he'd been angry at her for not doing anything to _stop_ Tom, why wasn't he angry at Tom for actually torturing his brother? But the answer came to her strangely quickly: fear. Even if Alphard was absolutely livid with Tom, he wouldn't dare to show it in front of him, as he knew what Tom was capable of…or at least part of it. It was a completely natural thing to feel, as Danielle had been afraid of Tom more times than she could count, but the fact that she was the easier target made her stomach clench.

Speaking of Tom, he had moved away from the group and was leaning against the entrance to their bedroom, his eyes fixed on her with his usual impassive gaze. Danielle was suddenly reminded that she hadn't given a proper explanation to anyone, and quickly launched into an account of what had happened to her since she'd gone to the Ministry, though leaving out Holstone's accusation that she was a time-traveler. Unfortunately, this left some loopholes in her story that she prayed her friends wouldn't notice.

Alyssa, Dylan, Georgina, and Alphard all looked stunned by the time she was done. Each seemed indignant about different aspects of her story. "Holstone can't send you to Azkaban and not even tell you what he suspects!" Alyssa exclaimed.

"I think something sounds strange about the Minister," Alphard added. "He shouldn't just let Holstone do whatever he wants, even if you _are_ one of his employees."

"And how could they force you to stand trial in front of the Wizengamot?" asked Dylan. "They don't get together just for any old case."

Georgina, however, was oddly silent; she was frowning at Danielle, making it clear that she knew she was leaving something out. Danielle grimaced at her, hoping to convey the fact that she would tell her as soon as possible. Tom, of course, looked just as composed as usual, but the intensity of his gaze had increased significantly. Danielle wasn't sure why this was; hadn't she already explained everything to him?

"So are you completely sure that you don't know why Holstone wanted to send you to Azkaban?" Alyssa asked. Hoping to deflect the question, Danielle pretended she hadn't heard her and instead asked, "Does anyone know what happened to my wand? Holstone told me he would deliver it to Billy, but I can't be sure if he was going to follow through or not."

"Actually, he did," Dylan explained. "The thing is, Billy had no idea what it was, being a Muggle and all, and so decided to send it to us instead because he knew we were friends. Unfortunately, the owl delivered it right to Felicity and I. She asked what it was and I…I had to tell her."

Danielle's eyebrows shot up. "How did she take it?"

Dylan shrugged. "She was shocked, obviously, and she said she needed some time to think about it…but I think she was more upset about the fact I hadn't told her yet more than that fact that I'm, well, a wizard."

"So Dumbledore has your wand," Alyssa interrupted, abruptly changing the topic. "I suppose one of us should go get him."

"I will," Georgina offered. "I need to get back to school anyway; I'll pretend I was sick in my dormitory. The Head Girl can't afford to miss more than one day of school, anyway."

"Thank you," Danielle told her gratefully, walking over to give her a hug. "I'll write you a letter explaining everything," she whispered in Georgina's ear, low enough so that Alyssa, Dylan and Alphard couldn't hear. Her friend scowled at her, disliking being left out, but grudgingly nodded.

They all bade her farewell, and when she had disappeared into the green flames Alyssa immediately said, "Well, looks like you guys will be trapped in here for a while, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Danielle asked, carefully averting her gaze from Tom's.

"You two are fugitives," she crowed, sounding much more excited about the prospect than Danielle was. "Tom's supposed to be in Azkaban, and you're supposed to be on trial at the Ministry."

"Lyssa, they'll have to go somewhere else," Dylan pointed out logically. "The Ministry will send people here to look for them as soon as they figure out Riddle and Clara are missing. They might even be on their way here now—"

"They are not," Tom said, speaking for the first time.

"How do you know?" Dylan asked.

"Because, Mr MacDougal, I have ways of knowing. Now, if you choose not to believe me, you are more than welcome to leave the building and confirm that for yourself," he replied smoothly, something dangerous brewing in his eyes.

Danielle could tell that Tom was fighting to control his emotions, and whether it was anger, fear, or frustration she couldn't tell. Nevertheless, it certainly wasn't helping to have her friends over, but what else was she to do? Hoping her presence would act as some sort of barrier, she slipped over to Tom and took his hand, refusing to let go even when he tried to pull away. She craned her neck to look up at him, and he met her gaze evenly, making her heart thud and stutter. "Clara," he said in a low voice so that the others, who were chattering away across the room, couldn't hear. "I do not need you to calm me down."

She glowered at him, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. "I wasn't trying to _calm you down,_ " Danielle spluttered angrily. "I haven't seen you for two weeks, and we both just got out of Azkaban. I think I have a right to want to be near you."

"If you really wanted to _be near me_ , you would not have let go at all," Tom murmured. "I am fine."

Danielle opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get her retort out the fireplace flared green again and Dumbledore stepped out, his eyes scanning the room until they fell upon Tom and Danielle standing in the corner. "Ah," he said, his face breaking into a smile, "I cannot express how relieved I am that you are both here and safe. Clara, I trust Azkaban was not too emotionally draining for you?"

"Well, it was," Danielle admitted, "But I think I'm fine. The fact that I didn't stay there for very long and that I knew I had been sent there unfairly helped."

"As it should have," said Dumbledore. He produced her wand from the pocket of his robes and went over to them, Tom letting go of Danielle's hand. She took her wand gratefully from Dumbledore, thanking him profusely. "You are quite welcome, Clara," he said before turning to Tom. "Now, as for you, Tom, I regret to inform you that since your wand has been destroyed, there is no conceivable way of getting it back, and since it would not be wise to leave the flat, going to Ollivander's and purchasing another one is probably not the best decision. However, I am aware that you can perform wandless magic, of a far more powerful and controlled nature than that of your ordinary witch or wizard, and I am sure that Clara wouldn't mind lending you her wand until you can manage to obtain another one."

Tom didn't look at all happy with this state of events, but he nodded stiffly and forced a hard smile for Dumbledore, although Danielle didn't really see the point as she was sure the Transfiguration professor could tell that he would like nothing more than to curse him.

"Clara," Dumbledore continued, turning back to Danielle, "May I speak to you for a moment?"

"Er, sure," Danielle said, ignoring her friends' curious gazes, and pushed open the door to the bedroom, waiting for Dumbledore to follow her inside. She wasn't at all surprised to see Tom come in as well, closing the door smartly behind him.

It was a very awkward situation; the three of them standing in the bedroom while Dylan, Alphard and Alyssa waited outside. Danielle gingerly sank down onto the bed, her eyes moving back and forth between Dumbledore and Tom. "What is it, sir?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Something tells me that you know more about Holstone's reasoning to put you in Azkaban than you let on," Dumbledore explained.

She nodded. "He, er, he thought I was a time-traveller, sir. I have no idea how he would get that sort of information, but you know he had me working in the Time Room, so I think that he was trying to see how I would react. And then he dragged me down to his office and forced me to either take Veritaserum or go to Azkaban. I knew that I would tell the truth if I took the Veritaserum, so I chose Azkaban. But you should have seen the Minister for Magic, sir! He just let Holstone do whatever he wanted. Actually, Holstone was acting like _he_ was in charge."

"Ah, Lorcan," Dumbledore said in a musing tone. "He is quite a powerful wizard and there is no doubt he makes a competent Minister, but he does allow himself to become easily influenced. I would say that _most_ of the Ministry employees have more say in decisions than he does. That is the reason why he allowed the Headmaster to send Tom to Azkaban; he believes Armando to have better judgement than him when it comes to the matters of Hogwarts students."

"But I don't think he knew that Holstone would try to use Veritaserum on me," Danielle moaned. "Maybe I _should_ have taken it instead of going to Azkaban. He thought that I could lie, anyway. Even if I was giving the right answer, he might not have believed me."

"Perhaps that is how he suspected you were a time-traveller," Tom replied. "He knew that no young witch could withstand Veritaserum, and he assumed that you had gotten around it somehow."

"Bloody hell, you're right," Danielle swore. "And now word's probably gotten out and the entire Ministry believes I'm a time-traveller—"

"Calm down, Clara," Dumbledore assured her before her panic attack could get of hand. "I will speak to the Minister today and assure him that there is no possible way you can be a time-traveller, and that Tom was convicted wrongly." His eyes twinkled, but Danielle couldn't bring herself to feel relieved.

Dumbledore turned around and opened the door with a flourish again, revealing the three very guilty faces of Alphard, Alyssa and Dylan, who had obviously been eavesdropping. "Blimey, Lyssa, I told you this wasn't a good idea!" Dylan hissed at his twin, who looked mortified.

"Sorry, Professor," she mumbled, casting her head down. "We didn't hear anything, I promise."

"I know," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I will not punish you; I cannot pretend I haven't done my fair share of listening at doors. However, I will not encourage it as polite behaviour."

All three of them looked just as ashamed as if he _had_ punished them. "We just wanted to know what was going on, sir," Alphard said sheepishly as Dumbledore strode past them. Tom followed him, and Danielle was the last to leave, shutting the bedroom door behind her. "We want to help."

"As it turns out, Mr Black, there _is,_ in fact, something you may be able to do," Dumbledore replied. "As I'm sure you have already guessed, Clara and Tom will not be able to stay here for much longer, as the Ministry is liable to come bursting in at any moment. Until I can manage to get their names cleared, which might take weeks or even months, they will need somewhere to stay. Perhaps one of you might be able to persuade your family to take them in?"

"Fat chance," Alphard said gloomily. "My family would be more upset about the fact that they aren't pure-blood than the fact that they should be in Azkaban."

But Dylan and Alyssa looked more hopeful. "Mother and Father will be in Greece for the next week," Alyssa said. "They can stay at our manor."

"Excellent, excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed; he seemed a moment away from clapping his hands. "Is that all right with you?" he asked Tom and Danielle.

She nodded eagerly, and although Tom didn't react, he didn't object to the idea either. "But Mother and Father aren't leaving until tomorrow," Dylan interrupted.

"We can stay here tonight," Danielle assured him. "Tom will know if someone from the Ministry is trying to get inside."

"It will give you time to pack your important things as well," Dumbledore said cheerfully, looking down at his pocket-watch. "Ah, I see that I have a class in ten minutes! Forgive me for my abrupt departure, but I must go or the Headmaster might suspect that I'm up to something." He smiled as he tucked the watch back inside his robes and walked over to the fire.

"Thank you, Professor," Danielle called. He inclined his head toward her and stooped as he climbed into the fire; he was so tall that he had to crouch slightly to fit inside it. The remaining five teenagers watched as he disappeared without even using Floo Powder.

There was a very strained silence once he had left; Danielle and Tom were staring across the room from Alyssa, Dylan, and Alphard; it was as if Dumbledore's presence had relaxed the air and now that he was gone, the worry, fear and suspicions had all come rushing back.

"So, er, I guess you can Apparate over to our place tomorrow morning," Dylan finally said. "We live just outside of Devon. You'll see the manor right away, it's the biggest thing for miles."

"You'll have to find somewhere else to go within a week, though," warned Alyssa, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Our parents will alert the Ministry within minutes if they discover that you were hiding with us, and then everyone will be in trouble."

"I understand," said Danielle. "I just…I can't thank you guys enough. I haven't done anything for you, and you were willing to go to Azkaban to rescue me and now you're letting us hide inside your house." _While I've been lying to you and keeping secrets for years._

"Hey, what are friends for?" Alyssa asked, a small smile working its way onto her face. "I know you'd do the same for us."

"Let's go, Lyssa," Alphard whispered, giving her a kiss on the side of the head. "Tom and Clara probably want to be alone."

They made their way over to the fireplace, and Danielle raised a hand in farewell as one by one they Floo'd back to their houses, Dylan promising they would clean up the manor for their arrival the next day.

When the flames had died down again, Danielle glanced up at Tom, who hadn't been watching them leave; he was instead staring out the window, next to which Alistair slumbered and Ophelia twittered around, hoping to be let outside. When he sensed Danielle's gaze on him he abruptly turned around and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Merlin, he was in one of those moods again. Danielle couldn't even tell what had triggered it; usually she could tolerate it, but now she just felt hopeless. She slowly walked over to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea before sitting down on the armchair and staring at the fire, hoping that someone would Floo in and tell her exactly what to do about Tom, but it was frustratingly still.

She cupped the mug in both hands, feeling its warmth burn through her fingers, but she didn't pull away. The soothing scent of peppermint wafted up into her nose, and she breathed in deeply, feeling her muscles relax. She listened closely in case she could hear Tom moving around in the bedroom, but all was silent except for the steady tick of the clock and the occasional crunching as Alistair ground his beak in his sleep.

Dusk had begun to fall over the city by the time Danielle finished her tea. She set the empty cup on the ground next to the chair and stood up, turning her back on the fire and walking over to the window. The sun, setting much earlier now than it had in the summer, cast long shadows over the city, illuminating the wizards and witches hurrying down Diagon Alley. She cast her gaze over the shops and alleyways to where the taller buildings of Muggle London towered in the distance. She would have to go see Billy and make up some excuse—

Suddenly, a green flash caught her attention and she jerked her attention back to the street below, where a wizard dressed in the Ministry uniform was walking purposefully down the street. Danielle let out a small gasp and pulled the curtain shut, casting the flat in darkness.

She stood there for several minutes, heart pounding, not even sure what she was waiting for—guards to come bursting through the door with wands drawn, for instance, or for them to Floo inside demanding that she go back to Azkaban…but the seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. Danielle finally dared to push open the curtain slightly with one finger, pressing her eye to the sliver of light—but the street was deserted, and there was no sight of the guard anywhere.

She let out her breath in one long sigh of relief, and when her heart had returned to its normal speed she unfroze her limbs and slowly walked over to the bedroom, needing to tell Tom about how worried she was. But Danielle paused in front of the door and raised her fist, preparing to knock, and then paused when she was about to draw her hand back. "Why am I knocking?" she muttered to herself. "It's my flat."

So she opted instead to just open the door, stepping into the room with the air of someone who had no idea what they would find inside. Tom was sitting on the bed, staring down at the opened _Daily Prophet_ —but his eyes weren't moving across the page, and he had an intense look of concentration that Danielle knew meant he was thinking hard about something else.

"Albania," he said quietly, not looking up at her. "We will go to Albania."

Danielle closed the door and leaned against it, feeling her back press into the doorknob. "Why?" she asked, just as quietly.

"Because we will have somewhere to stay," he replied. "The Druri Inn."

"You mean you want to go back there?" Danielle asked uncertainly. She was reminded of the time she had been sent back to the future, the time she had first confessed to Tom that she'd loved him and he'd stormed away, the well-meaning Kaltrina, the quiet Brahim, and the beautiful Adelina who had been trying to entice Tom. But Kaltrina _had_ sent Skender to keep an eye on her, and although Danielle didn't really appreciate her meddling she hadn't spoken to the old woman since she'd been in Albania. Besides, she might get a chance to speak to Skender and tell him that Georgina was doing well. It was the least she could do after all her friend had done for her. But still, she hadn't expected Tom to suggest going there. It would seem, to him, as if they were fleeing England, fleeing the Ministry and letting them win…

"Of course I do, or I would not have suggested it," Tom told her, looking up for the first time and his cold gaze meeting hers. Danielle let out a sigh she hadn't even been aware she'd been holding: he had another reason for wanting to go to Albania; she knew he did. But she also knew that he wasn't going to tell her exactly _why_ he wanted to go back there. And she had to admit it was a good idea: Kaltrina would take them in no matter what.

"Fine," Danielle said after another moment. "We'll stay with Alyssa and Dylan for a few days and then if Dumbledore still hasn't gotten things sorted out, we'll go to Tirana."

Tom gave a curt nod and turned back to the _Prophet,_ but Danielle could tell his mind wasn't on reading. She pushed away from the door and walked over to the bed, curling up on the side farthest away from him and hugging the pillow close to her chest. She knew he would speak if she only gave him time; that was the best way to get anywhere with him. Unlike Danielle, who usually told him exactly what she was thinking or feeling if she was upset, it took Tom hours, if not days, to finally open up. It was almost as if the roles were switched in their relationship—she was the male, and he was the female. The thought made her smile briefly, but she knew it was because he had been so closed off and reserved all his life that saying what he was really thinking or feeling was an effort for him.

She knew that he would eventually voice his thoughts, and luckily she hadn't been waiting for long when the _Prophet_ shut with a snap and floated over to the corner before Tom turned to her. After giving the pillow a disdainful glance, he asked, "Clara, what is this nonsense about you trying to rescue me?"

Danielle was taken aback; she was shocked that something so trivial had caused his brooding mood. "Well, I was," she said. "Did you think I was going to let you stay in Azkaban without at least _trying_ to do something? I went right up to the Minister's office, but Holstone was already in there talking to him—I assume it had something to do about me, so it _was_ lucky that I did that, I suppose…" She trailed off thoughtfully, almost forgetting about Tom, who was staring at her with a look of mingled annoyance and amusement.

"And you thought _you_ could do something about that? You got yourself thrown into there as well," he accused. "Clara, you need to stop believing that you can change things just by diving mindlessly into any situation. You are like a Gryffindor sometimes."

 _I changed you,_ was on the tip of Danielle's tongue, but she bit the words back, afraid of his reaction. Instead she opted for a lighter response, saying as cheerfully as she could, "Well, I love you, so of course I was going to do whatever I could. You mean you wouldn't do the same?"

"I did," Tom replied succinctly. "I saved you from the Ministry."

This was a valid point, but Danielle scowled in defeat. Tom smirked, and he unfolded his long legs from the bed and stood up, walking around to her side. "Promise me you will not try to rescue me again, Clara," he told her. "I can take care of myself, with or without a wand. Your stupidity will get yourself seriously injured or killed someday."

 _Stupid male ego,_ she thought, but realized it wouldn't be wise to argue with him. "I promise," she sighed gloomily. "But it's just so _fun_ saving you, when usually I'm the one who needs saving."

"And it gets tiring looking after you all the time," Tom said, but his smirk was growing wider. Danielle couldn't stop a smile from crossing her face and she sat up on her knees so she could kiss him for the first time since everything had unfolded. She prayed he wouldn't pull away, and to her great relief he returned the kiss, but she could still feel him smirking. His body was rigid against hers, and although he pushed her back onto the bed, their limbs still intertwined, she knew that something else was troubling him, and he was only going along with it to try and distract her. Danielle, of course, wasn't going to complain, but the moments when he _did_ initiate physical affection or even closeness was when he was in a rare mood, and it most certainly wouldn't come after an intense day like this. She knew him better than that.

But moments like this, desired or not, were so few and far between that she wasn't about to deny herself time with him, especially not when the future was so uncertain. All she wanted to do was get rid of that feverish light in his eyes that had erupted ever since he'd been in Azkaban, and it scared her.

Danielle pulled back from him, holding him at arm's length and searching his face. His hair was ruffled and spots of pink had appeared high on his cheekbones. "What is it, Clara?" he whispered hoarsely, his legs tightening around her waist.

His voice sent shivers down her, but it was his eyes she was staring at. The light had been extinguished for now, replaced by a muted hunger, but she wasn't sure if he was just acting or not.

Whatever the case was, Danielle wasn't going to spoil this moment. She simply shook her head and pulled his face back down to hers.

* * *

In the middle of the night, she awoke with a start, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Everything was completely silent, save for her own breathing.

Danielle turned her head to look over at Tom: his back was to her, but his breathing was too rapid, his posture too stiff, for him to be asleep. Her dreams had been full of strange figures; she was walking down a long row of cells in Azkaban while Dementors floated on either side of her, bringing with them that chilly feeling that lodged her stomach first and then slowly spread throughout her entire body. She wondered if Tom had the same reaction to them as she did.

A question that she had been aching to ask for months bubbled up to the forefront of her mind, and before her sluggish, exhausted brain managed to catch up she'd already said, "What do Metusas turn into for you?"

Tom turned over to stare at her; his eyes glittered in the darkness as he replied shortly, "I see myself dead and powerless."

She was surprised he'd answered so quickly, but she could also tell by his clipped tone that he was leaving something out. "Anything else?" Danielle asked softly, not even sure herself why she was being so nosy.

This time, it took Tom at least thirty seconds before he answered, "I saw you dead last time."

Something new flowed through her veins; it was jubilance mixed with a bit of shock, as if she had known the answer unconsciously but had never been able to fully accept it. "Well, at least I know you care," she whispered, so low that she could barely hear it herself.

"Go to sleep, Clara," Tom told her, but he himself got out of bed and pulled on his robes. Danielle sat up, confused, as he opened the door and stepped out.

Of course, she wasn't about to listen to his orders, so she got out of bed as well and slipped into her dressing-gown before following him into the main room, where he was standing at the window staring out onto the street.

"I told you to go back to sleep," he said without turning back to look at her.

"Did you think I would actually do that?" she asked, wondering what he was staring at. She slowly crept up behind him and stood on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder onto the shadowy street below, but quickly jumped backward with a small gasp: the street was absolutely surrounded with Ministry personnel, quietly standing guard. " _Merlin!_ They're _here?_ Why haven't they tried to come in? Do they know we're here?"

Tom shook his head, drawing back from the window and letting the curtain fall. "I have ways of keeping them out," he said with a touch of arrogance. "But it would still not be wise to linger here much longer."

"How can you keep them out without a wand?" Danielle demanded, but Tom refused to answer her.

"Do not worry about that, Clara," he said. "They do not believe we are here—they are waiting for us to arrive."

Danielle cast one more anxious glance at the closed window, wondering how long they'd been standing there, on guard. She wondered if Dumbledore had gotten anywhere trying to persuade the Minister that they were innocent.

"Tom," she breathed heavily, turning her back on the window, although she could still see it in the forefront of her mind. It was his turn to sit down in the armchair now; the fire had blazed to life and was casting shadows on his pale face. "What are you thinking about? Please tell me."

He opened his mouth, but it took a while for the words to be uttered. "I am thinking of ways to find out what Holstone's motives are."

She knew he was still lying, but she couldn't stalk away and slam the door or act childish as other couples might have done in similar situations: with Tom, she just had to grin and bear it. Danielle couldn't express how much it aggravated her sometimes, but she had to put up with it. She'd promised him she would. Just because Tom was ridiculously handsome and inconceivably intelligent didn't mean that they would have a perfect relationship.

The clock above the mantle chimed three times, and Danielle was suddenly aware of how tired she really was. Sensing that she wouldn't get anything more out of Tom that night, she quietly trudged back into the bedroom and crawled back into bed, leaving him staring into the fire with whatever dark thoughts he was harbouring.


	12. MacDougal Manor

The bed was still empty when Danielle woke up the next morning. She wondered if Tom had actually slept at all, or if he'd just stayed up all night thinking—he'd done that on many other occasions during the summer. But this time, Danielle thought, was different. Normal activities, such as sleeping and eating, didn't seem to be as crucial for Tom.

She rolled out of bed and got dressed into her traveling cloak quickly, giving the bedroom a onceover to make sure there was nothing of value in it. Maybe one day they would be able to come back to the flat, but Danielle knew she could only take the most important things. Still, looking at all the furniture she'd bought made her regret having to leave the cozy flat behind—for two and a half months, it had felt almost like home.

When she'd deduced there was nothing in the bedroom worth taking—they had to travel light, after all—she opened the door and emerged out into the main room. The curtains were still pulled over the window, and now that the fire was extinguished, it was just as dark as it had been the previous night.

Tom was already prepared to leave, his suitcase in his hand. At Danielle's quizzical glance, he explained, "I managed to salvage my things before I was sent to Azkaban. Now hurry up, Clara. We do not have all day."

Was it possible that they had been passionately kissing only eight hours before? Now he was as cold and frosty as if she were a stranger. Danielle scowled at him, but did as she was told: gathering up her own suitcase and haphazardly stuffing her extra robes and books into it. She stuffed her wand into her pocket and made sure she had everything she needed before looking over at Ophelia and Alistair. "I'm not leaving them," she said firmly.

Tom sighed. "Then let them go once we are outside," he replied. "They will find their way to the manor by themselves."

Danielle reached out her arm, and Alistair swooped onto it, followed closely by Ophelia. "I thought we were going to Floo to the MacDougals' house," she said.

"The Ministry is monitoring the flat and all of its tenants very closely," Tom explained. "They will be able to tell if someone is using the Floo Network. We will exit out the back door and Apparate there."

"Oh," was all Danielle could say. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she thought of the veritable army waiting outside. What if they weren't able to make it there safely? What if one of them was caught again? She had a masochistic urge to look out of the window and see if the guards had doubled overnight, but luckily Tom called her back to attention. "Are you ready?" he asked, beginning to walk toward the front door.

Danielle had rather hoped she would be able to have breakfast first, as she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten and her stomach was growling in protest, but at the risk of making him even more impatient she shook her head and walked toward him.

He turned around and left without giving the flat a backward glance, but Danielle paused at the door and surveyed the room one more time, hoping that someday she would be able to come back and see it again. Although she had only lived there for two and a half months, she was attached to it—it was the first place, aside from Hogwarts, that had felt like home to her in the past.

But Tom was her home now, and she ultimately turned her back on the flat and hurried after him.

* * *

As they headed down the seven flights of the stairs to the lobby, Danielle heard noisy footsteps thundering up the stairs toward them. Tom halted and, grabbing her arm, pulled her into a shady alcove. Unfortunately, his intentions weren't as romantic as they might appear to an outside observer—he'd cast a Disillusionment Charm over both of them, and the wand in his hand was, Danielle realized with some indignation, hers. She hadn't even seen him take it.

But before she could lecture him on asking her before he took anything, the voices grew louder as a group of talkative witches walked past; Danielle recognized them as ex-Hogwarts students whom she had interacted with briefly in fifth year—they'd been Gryffindors and had never listened to her even though she'd been a Prefect. Now they were giggling about a party they'd thrown the previous night, with no mention at all of the Ministry employees standing guard outside the building.

When their high-pitched, grating voices had faded into the distance, Tom stowed her wand back inside his robes and stepped back onto the staircase. "Hang on," said Danielle, for once keeping up with his rapid pace, "Shouldn't you find it more difficult to use my wand?"

"It does take slightly more strength," Tom agreed. "It tries to resist me."

Danielle grinned in triumph; she wondered how Tom's wand would have reacted to _her_ , but of course, that was impossible to know now. "Of course it did," she said smugly.

"It is very like you," he admitted. "It holds a bit of your essence. Of course, that can be said for all wizards' and witches' wands." They'd reached the bottom of the staircase now, and, still safely concealed, Tom led her behind the stairs to where a rusted door stood, opening out onto an alleyway. "We're going to Apparate here?" Danielle asked. "Won't the guards be able to tell?"

"Yes," Tom replied, "But they do not know where we are going." He took out Danielle's wand again, and she reached for his hand, not wanting to risk getting Splinched. Dylan had said that they lived just outside of Devon, didn't he? She'd never been there, but she concentrated as hard as she could on the mental image of what she imagined it to be like. Next to her, she felt Tom turn, and they Apparated out of London, disappearing just before a swarm of Ministry officials descended upon the flat.

* * *

Danielle opened her eyes to bright green fields; they were standing in the middle of a deserted country lane, with nothing but farmland for what seemed like miles. Rolling green fields stretched out as far as she could see, and grazing cows dotted the land. But she couldn't bring herself to completely relax; it might _seem_ that they were alone, but there was no telling what the Ministry had resorted to in its frantic search for them.

"Dylan said that we'd be able to spot their manor," she spoke first, letting go of his hand and stuffing it into her robes. "I don't see it."

"That is because you are not looking closely enough," Tom reprimanded, nodding at one of the hills, beyond which she could see a curl of smoke. "You must learn to be more mindful of your surroundings, Clara."

Feeling a blush cover her cheeks, Danielle huffed and set off toward the hill, not waiting for him. She could envision his smirk behind her, and that propelled her forward until she was almost jogging, not caring about her childish behaviour.

Tom caught up with her once she'd reached the top of the hill, and now she could clearly see it: an enormous but slightly forbidding manor stretched out in front of them, tucked between two hills. A confusing array of hedges were spread out in front of it, and she could picture Alyssa and Dylan as children playing in the maze for hours. A large pond was centred in the middle of the hedges, where a number of swans and ducks swam freely. It was, overall, a gorgeous place, if not slightly intimidating.

"The MacDougals are one of the most prominent magical families in Britain," Tom explained from beside her. "Their descendants have lived in this manor for centuries, although, unfortunately, your friends do not seem to appreciate that fact."

"So what are you going to do?" Danielle challenged. "Murder them and then make it look like an accident so the property will be left to someone more deserving of it—namely yourself?"

A satisfied look appeared on his face, and he looked almost amused as he replied, "I would call myself more deserving of the title of 'wizard', however, I do not wish to spill pure blood, as it is already so rare."

Something in his tone, the cold air to it, reminded Danielle of Voldemort, and the lighter atmosphere instantly darkened. Danielle's grin disappeared, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, knowing the sudden frost in the air wasn't just due to the autumn wind. Casting a sideways, almost hesitant, glance at Tom, she began to walk down the hill toward the manor, sensing his presence just behind her.

Unfortunately, in order to get to the door, one first had to navigate the array of hedges, Danielle stopped at the entrance, hoping Tom would stride ahead first, but when she turned around there was nobody there. Where had he gone? He'd lifted the Disillusionment Charm when they'd arrived, so surely there was no use in concealing himself again, unless he wanted to play a trick on her…but Tom wasn't one for childish games like that.

"Tom?" Danielle asked uncertainly, executing a very ungraceful turn. There was still no answer, and she had no choice but to walk into the hedge, taking turns at random and hoping she was going in the right direction.

When she saw an empty space ahead of her, she breathed a sigh of relief and quickened her pace, but to her dismay she saw that she was only at the pond. There were three paths lined ahead of her, and she had no idea which one she could choose.

Hoping that the right choice was the most obvious one, she took the middle path and headed down it, until she came to a dead end and realized that it had led her in the entirely wrong direction. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, and began to double back. When she reached the pond again, she scowled when she saw Tom, who had most certainly not been there before. He was leaning against the side and looking very amused. "Lost?" he called lazily, twirling her wand in his hands.

Danielle had almost forgotten he had it. "No," she growled, clenching her hands into fists and stomping past him toward the path on the left.

"That is the wrong one, Clara," he said after her. Hating his patronizing smirk, she turned around and headed through the last remaining path. He pushed himself off the ledge and silently followed her.

Danielle was fully prepared to ignore him, but of course, her curiosity eventually got the better of her. "How did you know which path to take?" she grudgingly asked.

"I was looking at it from above," he replied, and her scowl grew deeper, but this time it was at herself. She should have thought of that when she was standing on the hill—memorized the correct path when she was looking at it from a height. But even if she _had_ , she doubted that she would have been able to memorize the correct one. "There was a more direct entrance that you failed to notice," he replied, his lips twitching. So that had been why he'd disappeared.

Frustration boiled up inside Danielle, but she refused to acknowledge it as they thankfully emerged out of the maze and arrived at the front doors of the manor. Danielle knocked on the door, hoping Alyssa or Dylan would answer quickly so she wouldn't have to be alone with Tom and his arrogant demeanor.

Luckily, the door swung open a few seconds later, but instead of the twins, a house-elf in a bright blue apron was staring up at them, its eyes wide and imploring. "Good morning!" it squeaked, bowing low to Danielle and Tom. "My name is Tippy, and I am proud to be the MacDougals' house elf. Young Mr MacDougal has informed me that they would have company today."

"Yes, I am Clara Ashford and this is Tom Riddle," Danielle said. "Pleased to meet you."

The house-elf literally gasped in delight, reaching out to shake Danielle's hand enthusiastically. "Oh, miss is so kind!" Tippy exclaimed. "Come in while you wait, miss! Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"I'll eat any food you have to offer," Danielle said, but she wasn't just being polite; she was genuinely starving. With another low bow, the house-elf darted off, leaving the door ajar. Danielle turned back to Tom, who was looking exasperated. "What is your problem?" she asked. "I'm allowed to be nice to house-elves—"

" _My_ problem?" Tom repeated. "What is _your_ problem, Clara? You have been nothing but insolent this entire day."

"Because you make me feel like an idiot all the bloody time!" she hissed. But she knew the reason why: in his mind, she was. Before he could confirm her suspicions, she stalked forward into the house.

They were in a grand entrance hall, with statues of what she assumed were the MacDougal ancestors lined against the wall. Directly in front of them was a grand spiral staircase, and there was an open door through which Tippy had disappeared. Danielle was about to start up the stairs when another door on the opposite side of the chamber opened and Alyssa came hurrying out, followed closely by Dylan and Alphard. "See? I told you they would get here all right," she called back to them before stopping in front of Danielle. "Sorry we didn't tell you about that maze. It always gives our guests a terrible time."

"No, we got through it," Danielle mumbled, refusing to look over at Tom.

"So the Ministry didn't come after you?" Alphard asked interestedly. "They didn't mention it in the _Daily Prophet,_ so they really _must_ want to keep things quiet."

"They tried to," she explained. "They had guards posted outside the flat but we managed to get away in time."

"Have you heard anything from Dumbledore?" Dylan said.

Danielle shook her head. "I dunno whether that means he has good or bad news. I know that the saying goes that no news is good news, but I think he'd tell us if he'd managed to convince the Minister that we were innocent."

"Mother and Father left for Athens earlier this morning," Alyssa said as she led them through the door she had just come out of, into a sitting-room with a luxurious Persian carpet covering the floor. A window looked out onto the hedgerows, and the walls were covered with portraits of different red-haired witches and wizards—the MacDougal ancestors. Danielle guessed that they were very similarly related to the Weasley family—or eventually would be. A blazing fire crackled in the middle of the room, spreading its warmth to the current occupants.

Alyssa and Alphard curled back up on the loveseat next to the fire, Dylan taking the armchair next to it. This left the couch for Tom and Danielle, who very pointedly sat at opposite ends.

Tippy then tottered back into the room, carrying a platter of cucumber sandwiches. As soon as he set it on the table, Danielle grabbed two, stuffing them into her mouth and not caring how unladylike she looked.

"Would you like some Butterbeer, miss?" Tippy asked. Danielle nodded through her mouthful of bread and eagerly grabbed the glass once Tippy had filled it, swallowing hard before drinking it in one.

She was so concentrated on eating that she barely noticed her friends were speaking again. "…They come back next Sunday," Dylan was saying. "I dunno where you're going to go after that…maybe Hogwarts?"

"We are going to Albania," Tom answered. "We have…acquaintances living there."

"Oh, you mean that old couple who owns an inn that you told us about?" Alyssa asked. When Danielle nodded, she continued, "Weren't they Skender's friends as well? Georgina will be pleased to know how he is."

"Hopefully he won't think too badly of us for being fugitives," Danielle joked, although she knew he wouldn't: he himself had been imprisoned in Nurmengard for a week, although of course Alyssa didn't know that.

There was a knock at the door and Tippy poked his head in again: "There is a visitor here, Mr and Miss MacDougal," he proclaimed.

"Bloody Merlin," Alyssa swore, untangling herself from Alphard and jumping up. "Is the Ministry here already?"

"No, it is Missus Hepzibah Smith," answered Tippy. "I told her that Madam and Monsieur were not home, but she wants to speak to you anyway."

"That old broad?" Dylan groaned. "You shouldn't have even opened the door at all, Tippy."

"I'll distract her," said Alyssa. "Dylan, you can show Clara and Tom up to their rooms." She dashed out of the room, the door swinging behind her.

"Come on, we'll take the other staircase," Dylan told them, and leapt off the couch. He muttered a spell under his breath and a panel in the wall next to the fireplace slid open, revealing an old, wobbly staircase. "This was installed during the Muggle riots of 1581, when Muggles would go around burning wizarding houses to the ground," he explained. "It was built so the family would be able to get to different rooms safely." He disappeared into the dark doorway.

Danielle got up as well and was about to follow him, but stopped when she heard a loud, grandiose voice declare, "Oh, _where_ is that darling twin brother of yours? He promised to play me a song on the piano the next time I visited!"

"He's still asleep," Alyssa said quickly. "I'll show you into the kitchen and then I'll go fetch him—"

"Oh, no need, dear. I can go into the sitting-room," the voice replied. Danielle took this as a clue to move faster, and darted as fast as she could after Dylan, sensing Tom right behind her.

The staircase was dark, narrow, and rickety; Danielle had to grip onto the banister as they climbed up, but if it had snapped away under her fingers she wouldn't have been surprised. The steps were much steeper than she was used to, so by the time they reached the top she was twice as tired as she would normally have been.

They emerged out onto a landing upstairs, and Danielle could see a picture window with a reading-seat that overlooked the backyard at the end of the hallway. Far beyond the hills that surrounded the manor, she could just see the tip of a church spire, most likely signaling a village, towering in the distance.

"We have three other spare bedrooms, so if you don't like this one you can switch," Dylan was saying, pushing open the first door on the right. Danielle walked in first and was met with a magnificent four-poster bed, even grander than the ones at Hogwarts, covered with a deep green bedspread and a canopy. There was a writing-desk next to the window, which looked out onto the front yard and a gravel road leading up to the house which Danielle hadn't previously noticed. "It's gorgeous," she breathed, dropping her suitcase next to the bed and walking over to look out the window and watch the swans in the pond.

"Glad you think so," said Dylan. "Listen, Hepzibah should leave soon, although she usually likes to stay for a few hours. I'm going to go downstairs and give Lyssa and Alphard a hand. Is that all right?"

"Sure," replied Danielle. Dylan gave them a grateful smile and hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

The atmosphere between Danielle and Tom was still stony after their recent argument. Danielle wanted to speak to him, to try to alleviate the tension in the air, but something prevented her from voicing her thoughts aloud. Instead she drew back from the window and walked over to her suitcase, beginning to unpack her belongings.

But she had no sooner flipped open the latch when there was a sudden flurry of activity at the window behind her, and she heard a loud thump as if something had smashed against it. Danielle whirled around and gasped when she saw a small furry shape lying motionless on the sill. She leapt to her feet and pushed the window open, letting out a cry of dismay when she recognized the limp body of Alistair.

The owl was chirping weakly, struggling to move in her arms. Danielle felt her heart break as she carried him over to the bed and gently laid him down on the pillow, creating a soft nest for him. "What happened to you, Alistair?" she whispered.

"Broken wing," Tom replied brusquely, causing her to jump; she hadn't seen him walk over. "He will need care immediately if he is ever going to fly again."

Forgetting their previous dispute, Danielle glanced up hopelessly at him, smoothing Alistair's ruffled feathers. "Can't you do something?" she asked desperately.

Tom's gaze met hers, and for a second she expected him to refuse. But with a small sigh, he brushed past her and turned his attention to the injured owl. For the first time, Danielle noticed that Ophelia had shown up as well; she, luckily, appeared to be fine.

Still using her wand, Tom muttered several spells under his breath, and Danielle winced; she swore she could hear the crunch of bones in Alistair's wing. But after a moment, the owl stopped struggling, and he was left staring up pitifully at them, his eyes even larger than normal.

"Do not move him straight away," Tom instructed, placing her wand back onto the bed. "His wing needs time to heal."

He started to stand up, but Danielle grabbed his wrist and stared imploringly up at him. "Thank you," she said fervently, forcing herself to swallow her pride. Trying to show that she was truly over her annoyance, she reached up and kissed him. Tom was unresponsive, but he made no move to push her away either. Danielle pulled away after a moment and let go of his wrist, focusing back on Alistair. She gently stroked his head, and his eyes closed. "How do you suppose he was injured?" she asked. "He's never hurt himself before…but I can't think of anyone who would deliberately break an owl's wing… _unless_ —Tom, maybe someone from the Ministry intercepted him! Holstone knew he was my owl!" She twisted around her upper body to stare wide-eyed at him.

"That is a possibility," Tom agreed. "But there is not a tracker implanted in him. The Ministry would certainly attempt that if they knew it was your owl."

"Maybe he managed to get away in time," mused Danielle. "Or maybe Holstone changed his mind at the last minute because he realized that you would be able to figure it out if you saw him."

Before Tom could answer, there was a loud, screeching laugh from downstairs; their room appeared to be right above the sitting-room. Danielle glared at the floor—she already disliked Hepzibah Smith. "I'm going to get some water for Alistair," she told Tom, reluctantly standing up and walking around the bed to the door. He was staring at the owl with a look of extreme focus on his face; she knew better than to interrupt him while he was thinking, so she quietly slipped out the door instead of asking him why he was so preoccupied.

Danielle poked her head into four other rooms before she located the bathroom: one of them must be Mr and Mrs MacDougal's, judging by the size—it was nearly as large as her flat in Diagon Alley—and the two extremely messy rooms must belong to Dylan and Alyssa. Once she did finally reach the bathroom, Danielle conjured a cup and filled it with cold water, hoping that the squeak of the pipes in the sink wouldn't be audible downstairs. Really, for such a pure-blood family, they had quite a lot of Muggle appliances.

On her way back to the bedroom, Danielle caught another irritating peal of laughter coming from the sitting-room; Hepzibah had one of the most girlish laughs she had ever heard. "Oh, you are such a _darling_ , dear!" she was crowing, her voice clearly audible. "You and Miss MacDougal will make an absolutely lovely couple! I had better be invited to the wedding, you hear?"

"Of course, ma'am," Danielle heard Alyssa say in a falsely polite tone of voice. She grinned to herself as she imagined the look on her friend's face.

"We're thinking of having it next spring," Alphard added, and this time Danielle clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"Oh, _are_ you?" Hepzibah asked. "I could have sworn your mother said it was going to be in the winter!"

"We've changed plans," Alyssa said. "We thought a spring wedding would be more romantic."

"I completely agree with you, dear. The winters have been so horrid lately, I have no idea where you would hold it…"

"Clara, what on earth are you doing?" Tom's amused voice came from behind her. Danielle jumped and whirled around; he was standing at the door to their bedroom with a questioning look on his face. She hadn't noticed she'd been leaning forward in her eagerness to hear the conversation.

"Nothing," she muttered. She was just about to turn around and abandon her eavesdropping when a phrase from below caught her attention.

"…Slytherin's locket," Hepzibah declared. "Of course, I paid _far_ too much for it, but Burke said it had been lying around in his shop for so long that he was desperate to get rid of it…"

Tom's head had snapped around at the mention of the locket too, and they both stood in the hallway, frozen, listening to the conversation.

"Slytherin had a locket?" Dylan asked.

"It's not a very well-known fact, but yes, he did," Hepzibah chuckled. "Burke told me he'd bought it off a young pregnant woman years ago. Poor girl, she had no idea how valuable it was! But then again, he said that she looked so badly off that she'd probably stolen it anyway. Of course, when I heard his story, I just _had_ to have it. It was a foolish decision, I realized…what do I need with Slytherin's locket? No, it's Hufflepuff's cup that I'm most proud of. I'm descended from her, you see."

 _Slytherin's locket. Hufflepuff's cup. Two of Voldemort's Horcruxes._ Danielle's panicked gaze fixed on Tom, who now had an unabashedly greedy look on his face. She thought of distracting him, pushing him back into the bedroom so he couldn't hear…but it was too late for that now. The damage was already done.

"So that's why I came here today," continued Hepzibah, not seeming to realize that her brash voice could be changing the future. "I was wondering if your parents wanted to buy the locket from me. It would be a reasonable price, of course, nothing at all like what _I_ paid for it…I realize that they weren't in Slytherin, but both of you were, weren't you?"

There was a short silence from downstairs, and then Dylan said, "Hepzibah, that sounds fascinating, but I really don't know what we'd do with a locket…"

"I wasn't thinking of _you,_ silly!" Hepzibah giggled. "I was thinking of your sister. She can put Mr Black's picture in it! Speaking of Mr Black, I should extend the offer to him as well. In fact, they might have more use for it than you."

"I'll ask them for you," Alphard promised, although he didn't sound very interested.

"I even brought it today," said Hepzibah. "I had a bit of trouble finding it. I would have arrived earlier, before your parents had left, but I have a terrible memory. I'm always forgetting things, but I suppose that's what happens when you get old. Don't let anyone ever tell you aging is a good thing."

Danielle wondered how she could have possibly managed to navigate through the hedges when she couldn't even find a locket. "Oh, here it is!" Hepzibah exclaimed a second later. "Look!" There was a short pause, during which there were several appreciative murmurs from Alphard, Dylan and Alyssa.

"It's gorgeous," Alyssa said. "But really, Hepzibah, I don't think Mother and Father would be interested in it."

"I don't think my family would be interested in it, either," Alphard added.

"Well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose," said Hepzibah, but she sounded disappointed.

Dylan took this momentary lull in the conversation to interject. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you came at a bad time," he announced. "We were just about to head into London for the day."

"Were you?" Hepzibah asked. "You should have told me, dears!"

"We did—"

"Well, now that you've finished making me feel bad, I won't intrude on your hospitality any longer," she said. Danielle heard footsteps leaving the room, and although she knew they couldn't see her, she drew back slightly. "Just let me know if you change your mind!"

"We will," Alyssa promised, although her voice didn't sound promising at all.

There were several loud smacks as Danielle assumed Hepzibah kissed them on each cheek, and with another elaborate goodbye Danielle heard the front door open and close; she could almost imagine the witch flouncing out.

Tom had silently disappeared behind her; as her friends complained about the visit Danielle slipped back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. The water for Alistair was almost completely forgotten; she'd put it down on the writing-desk before seeing him still crumpled on the pillow. Danielle grabbed it again and walked over to Alistair, gently pouring some into his beak while watching Tom. The greedy look had disappeared from his expression, but Danielle would have bet everything she owned that he was still thinking about Slytherin's locket. Whether it was to create a Horcrux or not, she had no idea.

"That sounds interesting, huh?" she finally asked, trying to keep her tone light and failing. "Slytherin's locket…I bet you would love to have that."

Tom nodded once, but he didn't mention any more about the matter as he silently watched her and Alistair. Danielle had the ominous feeling that his mind was on something completely different., and she knew exactly what it was.


	13. Master of Manipulation

No more mention of the locket was made for the rest of the day, and Danielle pretended as if she hadn't heard a word of the conversation with Hepzibah Smith. But now, on top of worrying about the fact that she was a fugitive, she kept wondering what exactly Tom would do, now that he knew that Slytherin's locket existed. He would believe it rightfully belonged to him, obviously, and he would try to find some way to obtain it. Danielle kept expecting him to ask Alyssa or Dylan more questions, but he didn't—at least not within her earshot.

Alistair, thankfully, was on the mend, and he was even able to move that evening. Alyssa prepared a tiny nest for him in a small box and Dylan used his owl (the same owl that had been Danielle's when she'd first arrived in the past but that she'd never used, so she'd given it to the twins as a sixteenth birthday present) to fetch rats for him. Alistair was kept under a steady supply of light, and seemed to be perking up by the minute. Danielle only wished he was able to speak, so that he could tell them exactly who had injured him. She shook with anger every time she saw his wing.

It was decided they would Floo to Albania the day before Mr and Mrs MacDougal arrived home the following weekend. Danielle thought of writing to Kaltrina and letting her know that they were going to visit, but ultimately decided against it, just in case she caught wind of her and Tom having escaped from Azkaban and would refuse to harbour two escaped prisoners from Azkaban, regardless of how innocent they actually were (or at least how innocent Danielle was).

Thinking about the last time they'd been in Albania reminded Danielle of a certain object that she hadn't seen in a very long time. That night, when she and Tom were going upstairs to bed, she said, "Kaltrina will be upset when she realizes that the Box of Desire is gone."

"I daresay she will be," Tom replied, although he didn't sound particularly interested.

"What happened to it?" Danielle asked slyly. "The last time I saw it, it was in pieces on the floor of the Room of Requirement."

"It was damaged beyond repair," answered Tom, pushing open the door to their room and striding inside without looking back at her. "Even magic could not fix such an old and powerful object as that."

"All right," Danielle said slowly, "I'll give you that. But _why_ was it damaged in the first place? That's what I'd like to know."

" _Clara,_ " Tom sighed. "It is shattered. Talking about it will not bring it back."

"I wasn't asking for it back. I wanted to know why you destroyed it." Danielle sensed he was becoming impatient with the conversation, but she was determined to get him to tell her the truth.

He didn't answer for a very long time, pretending to be focused on something out the window. Finally he turned to her and said shortly, "It was an impulsive move and I do…regret it, since it was quite valuable."

"An impulsive move?" Danielle pressed. "What could possibly make you that upset? You knew beforehand how prized it was."

But Tom had reached the end of his rope; he outright refused to answer her as he kicked off his shoes, pushing them to the wall.

Danielle was forced to relent and try a different tack. "Fine, then, I just wanted to ask you one more question: What did you see in it?"

"Clara, I am not having this conversation," Tom said with more than a hint of warning to his voice.

"But I am," Danielle shot back. "I want to know—"

Now she'd crossed a line; Tom's eyes flashed as he glared over at her. "Are you _blind?_ Can you not see what is right in front of you? I am not constantly going to declare whatever feelings I may harbour toward you every day like your friends do to each other. Clara, I have told you multiple times that I am not going to get down on one knee and profess my undying devotion to you. Is it not enough for you that I am still here after all this time?"

Danielle's jaw dropped and she stared openmouthed at him. "I…I wasn't asking you to," she stuttered. "I just want to know what you saw in the Box of Desire." _I want to know if you saw me._

"If you have any semblance of intelligence, you know the answer to that," was all he said, and didn't look back over at her.

She fell silent—which was probably the wisest thing to do—and pondered his words. It was clear that Tom wasn't one for expressing his feelings and emotions, and even something as simple as admitting what he saw in the Box of Desire was difficult, if not impossible, for him. He would, of course, never tell her that he loved her out loud, let alone to other people, and sometimes that wasn't enough for her. She needed to hear him say it, needed to know that she was doing _something_ right…because he was her only reason to stay in the past. If it wasn't for him, what else did she have? If he didn't want her, she should have gone back to 2011 and stayed with her family, living the life she was _supposed_ to have.

But, as far as she could tell, Tom did still care for her, and if his response was anything to go by, then he did see her in the Box of Desire—over immortality, over power. Danielle couldn't deny that she was _extremely_ pleased by the fact, even if she was certain that it hadn't always been her he'd seen. When they'd been staying at the Druri Inn back in the spring of 1943, and she'd told him that she saw him, she was sure that it hadn't been her that he was seeing in return. The change must have come sometime between then and the first night they'd spent together in the Room of Requirement. She'd woken up the next morning and seen a piece of the smashed mirror on the ground, but had shrugged away the incident until now, thinking that it had simply been dropped or handled carelessly.

Danielle was just puzzled about _why_ it had been destroyed.

* * *

Early the next morning, even before the sun had started to rise, Tom silently walked down the still-dark hallways of the manor, his fingers wrapped around the handle of Clara's wand. He'd leaned over in bed and watched her sleeping form for a moment, her arms reached out to him as if she was imagining holding him, and kissed her gently on the lips. While her body unconsciously arched up to meet his, he'd carefully pried her fingers away from her wand, where she'd been holding it in her sleep, and slipped it into his pocket before carefully pulling away.

Her eyes had flickered open then, and he'd mentally cursed; she was usually a heavy sleeper. "Tom?" she'd mumbled, still disoriented.

He hadn't responded, knowing that if he pretended not to hear her she would think it was just a dream. Of course, she had done just that several seconds later, not even noticing that her wand had disappeared. Tom had just as quietly climbed out of bed and pulled on his robes before silently leaving the room.

She wanted so badly to believe in him; to believe that he could be redeemed. Tom, of course, scoffed at the idea—he would sooner become professor of Muggle Studies and marry Amy Benson than he would turn into who she wanted him to be; who Dumbledore wanted him to be. Clara wanted the Tom Riddle he disguised himself as—the brilliant but humble, polite, and charming boy that she had first encountered. Of course, she knew very well by now that this was not the case, but that didn't stop some part of her for still hoping it could somehow be achieved.

And as for him…well, the most he could say was that he had never been infuriated by someone so much, except perhaps Dumbledore, and that he had never wanted anyone so much. Although he knew everything there was to know about her, and once he had probed into her soul he would have expected himself to leave, she was still an enigma to him. She had made him weak, and he loathed her for it, but at the same time she was _his_. He had never felt any vestige of true happiness until he knew her, but he would rather have humiliated himself in front of the entire world than tell her, because underneath it all, he was still, somehow, Tom Riddle.

The kitchen was dark and quiet that early in the morning. Tom cast _Lumos,_ feeling a surge of irritation at the sensation of the wand trying to disobey him, as if it sensed he'd taken it without Clara's permission, but at the same time feeling _her_ , as if some of her magic had been transferred to him and was rushing through his fingertips.

"Sir!" a squeaky voice called, and Tippy the house-elf was rushing toward him, bowing so low his nose was nearly touching the floor. "It is wonderful to see you, even this early in the morning!"

It gave Tom great pleasure to see this worthless creature bowing down in front of him, and he took a moment to savour the feeling before instructing, "Rise."

Tippy immediately shot up, his large eyes wide. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked breathlessly. "Anything for Mr and Miss MacDougal's distinguished houseguests!"

"I would like you to go to Hogwarts and get me some Polyjuice Potion. It should be in the cabinet in the very back of the Potions classroom. I trust you have been to Hogwarts before?"

Tippy looked confused, but at Tom's question he nodded eagerly. "I used to work there, sir, before I served this honourable family. I am quite an old elf, you know, but I would be ever so pleased to abide by Master Riddle's wishes—"

"You may leave," Tom cut him off. "I do not want you asking questions of me, either."

Tippy bowed low again before disappearing with a puff of smoke. Tom smirked to himself and sat down on one of the chairs, crossing his long legs and once again going over the plan in his mind.

He was determined to get Slytherin's locket, no matter what it took. It was rightfully his, after all—it belonged in his family…belonged to _him_. Burke had bought it from his mother; who else would the pregnant woman be? It was likely that the foolish woman, starving and penniless, had had nothing to sell except for the locket. Of course she would have had no idea of its true worth.

But, if everything went well (and Tom was sure it would) the locket would soon be back in the hands of its rightful owner.

He had to admit he was interested in Hufflepuff's cup as well…but that was not as important as the locket. If he got the chance to take it, he would, but it wasn't crucial.

Now Tom was pleased that he was staying at the MacDougals' house; otherwise he might not even have come across the information. All he had to do was put up with Clara's friends for another week and then he would be in Albania, somewhere he had always wanted to return. Strains of Dark Magic existed there that would never be spoken of in Britain. He would be able to bide his time, learn more about them, and research ways to make a Horcrux. Although Tom had pushed the idea to the back of his mind, what with everything that had transpired in the past year, his stay in Azkaban had made him more determined than ever to become immortal.

He wasn't particularly upset that his chances for becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had probably vanished by now—if he _did_ manage to make a Horcrux, he would be far more powerful than any job could make him.

And as for what would become of Clara…well, Tom would figure that one out later.

* * *

Tippy returned within twenty minutes, clutching a small vial of Polyjuice Potion in his hand. Bowing low again to Tom, he squeaked, "This should be enough for four hours, sir," he explained. "I pretended that I was there to speak to another one of the house-elves so nobody would suspect anything. Does Master Riddle need something more?"

"No, that will be all," Tom said curtly. As Tippy turned around to prepare breakfast for the others, who would surely be waking up soon, he pointed Clara's wand at the back of the elf's head and whispered, " _Obliviate._ "

* * *

Danielle had long gotten used to Tom having already left when she woke up, but she couldn't deny that every glimpse of the empty space beside her tore at her heart a little bit. She knew that he was an early riser and that she, on the other hand, liked to sleep in…but sometimes, she'd once confided to Alyssa and Georgina, it made her feel like their relationship was nothing more than a collection of one-night stands with arguments thrown in for good measure.

She could hear the others talking and laughing downstairs, and the clink and clashes of cutlery. Danielle slowly sat up and reluctantly climbed out of bed, pulling up her hair into a bun so she wouldn't have to look at the tangled mess it currently was. Her brush was somewhere deep in the depths of her suitcase, but she wasn't in the mood to go digging for it just then. Her wand was nowhere in sight; she thought with a twinge of annoyance that Tom must have taken it when he'd left, so she couldn't even Summon the brush.

Danielle changed into her least conspicuous, Muggle clothes (a plain blue dress and a pair of stockings) before heading over to where Alistair's makeshift bed was sitting on the windowsill. He and Ophelia had become quite close during the summer, and the Snidget was fast asleep next to the box. Danielle extended her finger and gently stroked the back of Alistair's head; the owl gave a soft hoot but didn't awaken.

She continued to pet him while her gaze moved beyond the window, into the grounds. It had apparently rained the previous night, judging by the water dripping from the turrets and the bright green quality of the grass. The swans and ducks in the pond had apparently taken shelter, as they were nowhere to be seen. The sky was covered with dark grey clouds, threatening the promise of more rain. It was going to be a stormy day.

Sudden footsteps sounded outside in the hall and the bedroom door swung open. Danielle turned around to see Alyssa bound into the room, a wide grin on her face. "Morning, Clara," she exclaimed. "I figured I'd better tell you that it's time for breakfast. Tippy prepared it a little early, but since everyone except you was already awake we figured we'd go ahead."

" _Alyssa_ ," Danielle said, half-amused, "Did nobody ever teach you how to knock?"

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. We shared a dormitory for two years—any notions of privacy are out the window. Besides, it's my house."

"Try telling that to Tom," Danielle replied, but she was smiling in spite of herself as she followed Alyssa out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, where Dylan and Alphard were tucking into a hearty breakfast which looked to be enough for ten people.

"Alphard's not entirely welcome at home right now, so he's going to stay here for the next while too," Alyssa explained, planting a kiss on her fiancé's cheek as she danced past him.

"Oh," Danielle said, smiling uneasily at Alphard as she took a seat at the table across from him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alphard answered, shrugging nonchalantly. "They get like this sometimes, since they're so worried about Cygnus. They'll come around eventually, and of course they wouldn't miss the highest-profile wedding of the year." He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Alyssa, who added, "Speaking of which, even if you and Tom are still in Albania by then, you're definitely coming to the wedding if I have to go over there and drag you back myself."

"Wouldn't dream of missing it," Danielle said seriously. "Where _is_ Tom, anyway?" She hadn't seen him at all on the way downstairs, and he didn't appear to be anywhere in the kitchen, either.

"I think he said that he was going to take a walk around the grounds," Dylan spoke up. "I dunno why he'd want to do that, though. I didn't have Riddle pegged as the type of person who would appreciate statues and fountains."

"Me neither," Danielle said, but inwardly she was doubtful. Tom would most certainly _not_ be going for a walk around the grounds, unless he was up to something. But she couldn't very well start searching for him without raising her friends' suspicions, so she dug into her breakfast and promised herself that she would find him right afterward.

But as it turned out, there was no need for that: Tom walked in just as they were finishing breakfast, dressed in a long, dark coat and gloves. Water was dripping from the ends of his hair and his shoes were soaked in dew; apparently, he _had_ gone for a walk.

"What do you think of the grounds?" Dylan asked as Tippy darted around the room, collecting plates and glasses.

"They are quite nice," Tom admitted, peeling off his gloves and laying them on the table. "I particularly enjoyed the statue of the Hogwarts Founders."

Even the mention of the founders was enough to make Danielle worry about the locket again. _Don't be stupid_ , she told herself firmly. _He's probably forgotten about it by now._ But she knew, deep down, that trying to convince herself otherwise was the stupid thing to do. Even so, she kept her eyes fixed on her plate, slowly pushing around her half-eaten sausages with her fork.

* * *

Shortly after breakfast ended, everyone drifted apart to do their own, separate activities. Alyssa and Alphard actually _did_ go for a walk in the grounds, and Dylan disappeared into his room—Danielle suspected he had written several unsent letters to Felicity. Tom was nowhere to be seen as well, and although Danielle had searched the manor up and down for him, getting herself lost on several occasions, he still wouldn't appear, which led her to conclude that he was either outside or had cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, although _why_ precisely, she wasn't sure. Was this how the pure-blood families spent their days, drifting about their cold, stuffy manors and speaking about topics of little importance? If it was, Danielle was sure she wanted no part in it.

After she'd stared out the window for a while, watching Alyssa and Alphard, hand-in-hand, giggle and whisper to each other before stopping to feed a deer that had appeared over one of the hills, Danielle turned back into the manor and prowled the halls for another several minutes, feeling almost like a ghost, before finding herself in the sitting-room. Someone, presumably Tippy, had lit a fire in the previously empty grate, and it did an excellent job of warming up the old, drafty manor. Danielle was certain it would be even more appreciated once winter came.

When the door to the sitting-room creaked open and Tom entered, Danielle immediately jumped up. "Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Well, you evidently were not looking hard enough," Tom replied. "I am going into London for a few hours."

" _London?_ " she demanded. "But it's dangerous there! What if you get caught?"

"Not if I have your wand," he replied, and pulled it out of his pocket, letting it rest lightly on his palm.

"At least let me go with you," Danielle argued, but Tom shook his head.

"No, Clara. This is something I need to do alone," he said insistently. Correctly guessing her next response, he added, "I will explain everything to you later."

"How will I know you're telling the truth?" she asked.

Tom stopped in the middle of turning around, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Trust me."

Fortunately for him, Danielle waited until the door had shut before hurling a very large and heavy book at it.

* * *

It was almost too simple for Tom to sneak into Alyssa's bedroom, which Alphard was currently sharing, and locate a strand of his hair on the pillow. He easily plucked one and dropped it into the vial of Polyjuice Potion, watching it turn a light shade of yellow. At the same time, he heard excited voices sounding from downstairs. A triumphant smirk crossing his face, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and melted into the corner seconds before Alyssa and Alphard burst into the room, their cheeks tinged pink with the cold and laughter.

Alphard immediately swung Alyssa into his arms, slamming the door with his foot. She giggled and began to kiss every part of his face as he dropped her down onto the bed, eagerly covering her body with his.

Tom did not particularly want to witness the part that was sure to occur next, so he decided to step in: with the two enthusiastically kissing fiancés too distracted to notice anything other than each other, he cast a Stunning Spell on both of them, watching as they collapsed in a tangled mass of limbs.

He was swift to act: grabbing Alphard's arms, he heaved the other boy away from Alyssa and dragged him over to the closet, making sure he truly was unconscious before stuffing him into the closet, magically locking him inside and then casting a Silencing Charm just in case he awoke early. Once he'd turned back to the room at large, he retrieved Alphard's wand from where it had been discarded on the floor, placing Clara's wand back into his pocket instead.

Tom mercifully decided to leave Alyssa as she was; she looked as if she would be out for a while, but just in case she awoke early he conjured a piece of parchment and a quill before scribbling _Be back soon_ in a perfect imitation of Alphard's handwriting and placing it on the pillow beside her. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, Tom made sure that everything was in place before lifting the Disillusionment Charm and stepping outside.

The hallway was deserted, except for Dylan's door being slightly ajar. The frantic scratching of a quill could be heard from within as he wrote his tenth letter to Felicity, which was sure to be torn up and thrown into the fire just like the previous nine. Tom had no conceivable idea why she was so hesitant about continuing on their relationship; she should be proud and honoured that a _wizard_ , a pure-blood at that, was interested in marrying her. It would be an extremely foolish notion to decline—although, in Tom's mind, all Muggles _were_ fools, so perhaps he shouldn't have expected anything different.

He walked past Dylan's room without the other boy noticing and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It was lucky that Tom was wearing plain black robes, similar to what Alphard was wearing—he drew the line at undressing him so that they would look identical.

Tom had never taken Polyjuice Potion before, and had to admit he was quite interested in what it would be like. He stared confidently at himself in the mirror for a moment before uncorking the vial of Polyjuice Potion and drinking it in one.

* * *

After another fifteen minutes of staring gloomily into the fire, Danielle roused herself and padded out of the sitting-room, feeling as if she should do _something_ worthwhile. Alyssa, Alphard, and Dylan were all busy, and she had a feeling Tom wouldn't take kindly to her following him into London, even if he _did_ have her wand.

Perhaps she should check on Alistair—the poor owl must be starving right now. Feeling her boredom melt away, Danielle started up the staircase, but was diverted by Alphard on his way down.

"Hey," she said gloomily to him as they passed each other. "Where's Lyssa?"

"Asleep," he replied, and his voice seemed a bit gruffer than usual. Danielle shot him a quizzical look, wondering if they'd had a row, but continued on her way upstairs.

Just as she reached the landing an idea occurred to her and she turned back around, her hand on the banister. "Alphard?" she asked. When he paused, turning round to look up at her, she continued,"D'you want to take a walk? I know you were just on one, but I need to get out of this house and I don't want to get lost. I would ask Tom, but he's gone into London for something—don't ask why—and Dylan's locked himself up in his room."

For a moment, she knew he was going to refuse, as he shook his head and began to say "No", but something seemed to occur to him and he changed his words midsentence. "Actually, that would be great, Clara," he told her. "I just have to sort something out first, but I'll get you later."

Danielle smiled widely at him. "Thanks. I'll meet you by the door at, say, one?"

He nodded, and she continued on to her room, feeling a bit happier now that she knew she wouldn't have to spend the day in lone monotony.

* * *

As soon as Tom was free of Clara, he immediately turned back around and headed out the front door, not wishing to run into anybody else. He had said yes to her out of a simple desire to know whether she was keeping any secrets from him. Perhaps there were some things that she had shared with Alphard that she hadn't shared with him, although he had no guesses as to what those things might be. Nevertheless, he had to admit he was curious to see how much her personality differed when she believed she was alone with one of her friends. He glanced down at the watch Alphard had been wearing: it was just after ten, and that elf had said the potion was enough for four hours, so if he spent an hour walking with Clara later he had three hours to get the locket from Hepzibah Smith.

Being in Alphard Black's body was a strange and not altogether pleasant experience. Tom was used to having the advantage of height, but Alphard was several inches shorter than him and he disliked having to strain to see things he would normally be able to notice instantly. Alphard's hair was also much longer than Tom's, and he found himself impatiently flicking strands of brown hair out of his eyes as he hurried through the garden maze. The swans and ducks all dispersed once he walked past them, but he paid no attention to that. Earlier in the morning, he had gone through Mr and MacDougal's bedroom to obtain an address-book, and he'd located Hepzibah Smith's address very easily. In fact, she lived in Diagon Alley as well, not far from where he and Clara had stayed during the summer.

When he was finally free of the property, Tom halted and pulled Alphard's wand out of his pocket, making sure no one was gazing out the windows of the manor before Disapparating.

He landed in the midst of the usual bustling crowd of Diagon Alley; luckily, the wizards and witches were so used to people suddenly appearing in their midst that they paid barely any attention to him as he wove through the crowds and lanes between shops, searching for Hepzibah Smith's address. He finally stopped in front of a small but comfortable-looking house squeezed in between a shop selling second-hand robes and an exotic pet store. Tom made sure to smooth down his robes and put on the easygoing expression Alphard usually wore before raising his fist and knocking at the door.

Hepzibah didn't answer the door at once; instead, an extremely old house-elf did, wearing a pink rag. Her (Tom assumed it was a female, judging by the pink) skin was so aged and wrinkled that he could barely see her eyes amidst the crumpled flaps, and she stood with a hunched back, making her appear smaller than she already was. "Good afternoon, sir!" she squeaked in a voice that was, to him, even more irritating than Tippy's. "What brings you here?"

Tom plastered a silly grin on his, or rather, Alphard's, face and answered, "My name is Alphard Black, and I am here to inquire after Miss Hepzibah Smith. There is something I wish to discuss with her."

"Who is it, Hokey?" a high-pitched, distinctly female voice floated behind one of the doors Tom could see inside the house.

"It's Mr Alphard Black, miss!" Hokey called back, her words coming out hoarse from age.

" _Oh_ , is it? Send him in!" Hepzibah ordered, and with a low bow Hokey stepped aside.

Tom made sure he smiled as genuinely as he could at the old elf before heading inside, stopping just outside the door where the voice had emanated from. He knocked quietly on it, and after Hepzibah cried "Come in!" he stepped inside.

The room was absolutely cluttered with items, including plants, old telescopes, mirrors, and an assortment of other, seemingly random, objects. Tom's gaze traveled over everything before coming to rest on Hepzibah, who was, without a doubt, the ugliest witch he had ever seen. She was enormously fat, and took up what seemed to be half the couch. Her blonde hair was curled up like a little girl's, and makeup absolutely caked her face. Her washed-out blue eyes were beady, but somehow blank, as if nothing substantial lived behind the face. She was wearing a bright pink dress such as Tom had seen little girls dress their dolls with at the orphanage, and overall she reminded him of a hideously overgrown baby playing with makeup.

Tom struggled to keep the disgust off his face as he carefully picked his way through the room toward her. Hepzibah wordlessly offered him her hand, as if she was royalty, and he bent over and kissed it, satisfied at least that he was touching it with Alphard's lips and not his own.

"How are you, ma'am?" he asked mutely, making his voice as charming as possible, although Alphard's voice could not go into the low and seductive tones as his could.

"Oh, I'm fine, dearie," Hepzibah answered, actually reaching up to pinch his cheek. His smile never faltered as she beckoned for him to sit down beside her. Hokey darted into the room then, carrying a platter of cakes that appeared twice as heavy as she was. "Right on time, Hokey," Hepzibah said approvingly. She took five for herself before offering the platter to Tom, who shook his head.

"I've changed my mind, Miss Smith," he said as politely as he could, who interjected through a mouthful of cake, "Call me Hepzibah!"

" _Hepzibah_ ," Tom corrected; he would have loathed the name anyway, but now he did even more so when it was connected to this beastly woman. "I've given it a bit of thought, and I was thinking that I _would_ like to purchase Slytherin's locket after all. I'd like to give it as a present to Alyssa."

"Would you now?" Hepzibah echoed, speaking to him as if he were a child. "Hokey, fetch me the locket," she ordered before continuing to smile foolishly at Tom. "You know, Alphard, you're quite persuasive," she told him. "You could have worked at Borgin and Burkes, made twice the money you do now—where _do_ you work?"

"I don't," Tom said, fighting to suppress a smirk; he imagined the look on Alphard's face as word got out that he was unemployed.

"Oh, that's a shame," Hepzibah replied, looking as if her estimation of him had gone down several points. "But you _are_ pure-blood, I don't suppose you need the money, after all. I went down the same route—why, all I'd have to do is sell Hufflepuff's cup and I'd be set for life! Oh, don't even think about it, dearie," she said, waving one fat finger at Tom, "That's not for sale! The locket, yes, but the cup…"

"Would you mind if I saw it anyway, Hepzibah?" Tom asked, silently cursing Alphard's average looks: he couldn't charm her the way he would normally have been able to.

She was already shaking her head. "I'm afraid I can't, Alphard…maybe one day, though…I'd have to find it first, and, well, that would just take too much time and energy, wouldn't it?"

Tom was certain she hadn't wasted more than the necessary amount of energy to get out of bed and eat in Merlin knew how many years, but the smile never left his face as Hokey arrived back in the room, this time carrying a small silver box.

"Here it is, darling," Hepzibah said, taking it in her chubby hands and opening the lid; Tom was so interested that he was able to brush aside the endearment relatively easily.

A delicate necklace lay encased in what looked like a velvet-lined box; a glittering gold "S" wound around the front of the locket, bearing Slytherin's mark. Before he could stop himself, he'd reached out and hooked his finger around the chain, lifting up the locket, where it shone and glinted in the sunlight, giving it an air of power it couldn't manage in the dusty box.

"Isn't it lovely?" Hepzibah whispered, as if the locket had some quality that made those around it speak in hushed tones.

Tom didn't answer; he made no effort to hide the greed in his eyes as he continued to stare at the locket. Hepzibah finally pried it out of his fingers and placed it back in the box, shutting the lid with a loud snap. "So, are you interested in it?" she asked as Tom leaned back, but keeping his eyes fixed on the box.

"I am," he agreed, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from it. "How much do you want for it?"

"Well, I was thinking a thousand Galleons," Hepzibah suggested, "But maybe I'll take nine hundred and ninety, just for you?" She winked roguishly, which only served to make her appear as if she had a tic in her eye.

Tom, of course, wasn't planning to pay one Knut. While he pretended to consider her offer, his hand gently touched the handle of Alphard's wand in his pocket, and Hepzibah's eyes slid out of focus.

It was almost ridiculously easy to cast a Memory Charm on her that not only wiped out any evidence of his visit, but of her even having owned the locket at all. Tom almost wished he'd had more of a challenge as he took the box out of her limp hand and slipped it into his pocket. When Hokey entered the room soon after, presumably wondering why they weren't speaking anymore, Tom cast the same charm on her.

While both Hepzibah and Hokey swayed in their spots, looking dizzy and disoriented, Tom paused at the doorway and wondered if he should get rid of them. It would certainly be a pleasure to see Hepzibah's watery eyes lifeless and unmoving…but no, he mustn't risk it; if Holstone got wind of the murders he would likely find some way to blame it on Tom, and besides, considering Hepzibah was morbidly obese and Hokey appeared about to keel over any moment, they didn't seem to have much longer anyway.

Now, should he search for Hufflepuff's cup? Tom wasn't particularly interested in it, but it was certainly enticing and could become useful in the future. It wasn't worth his time to look for it, though, and he certainly didn't want to become the new owner of a possession, prized though it was, that had been in Hepzibah's family for centuries. No, the locket would do.

Without looking back at Hepzibah or Hokey, Tom turned around and strode out of the house.

* * *

Once Danielle was certain that Alistair was comfortable and well-fed (she had to feed him owl treats in lieu of his usual rats and assorted small rodents, although he didn't seem to be too disappointed with this new arrangement), she headed back downstairs in search of Tippy. The house-elf seemed to be lonely with his master and mistress gone, and Danielle had found that sometimes elves made better conversational partners than humans. She thought of Minnie, working diligently in the Hogwarts kitchen, and a smile crept across her face. She would have to pay her a visit sometime.

But there was no sign of Tippy when she went down to the kitchen; he must have been taking a nap or tidying up the manor. Danielle was forced to give up her search, and went across the hallway into the sitting-room, which was now pleasantly warm since the fire was still burning in the grate. It was getting low, though, and just as Danielle was about to walk over to replace the logs, it glowed bright green and Albus Dumbledore stepped out. "Ah, Clara!" he exclaimed at Danielle's astonished glance, "Just the person I was looking for. Come, let's have a seat."

Danielle was sure by now that Dumbledore had some way of telling who was in the room he was going to Floo into, since his appearances were by now far too coincidental. She sat down in the loveseat while Dumbledore took the armchair. "It's a nice manor, isn't it?" he asked conversationally, looking around the room. "I don't see why Mr and Miss MacDougal complain about it."

"Yeah, I don't either," Danielle said distractedly; she leaned forward, clasping her hands in her lap. "Professor, why are you here? Have you managed to speak to Holstone?"

"Actually, that is why I am here," Dumbledore explained. "Is Tom around?"

"He's in London, actually," replied Danielle, shrugging at the professor's inquisitive look. "Don't ask me why he's there, but I'm sure he'll be fine."

"I daresay he will," Dumbledore said lightly. "I suppose we can have this conversation without him, then. Clara," he began more earnestly, leaning forward as well, "I am sorry to say that I haven't managed to convince the Minister of anything. Of course, all he had was my word to go by, since I did not want to reveal too much. But he is still firmly convinced that you and Tom must be found, and that you _both_ must stand a trial if you are to turn up again. I could not risk coercing him _too_ much, as Armando already suspects that I know where you are."

Danielle hadn't expected anything better, but even still, her heart turned over as she asked, "What about Holstone?"

"That is a slightly different story," Dumbledore admitted. "Holstone, it seems, has been, for lack of a better word, sacked by the Minister."

"He was _sacked?_ " she echoed, barely able to keep the glee out of her voice. "Why?"

"Well, it turned out that the Minister was not so fond of him as to warrant him staying employed when he had just sent a girl to Azkaban without substantial proof of any crimes." Dumbledore's mustache twitched.

"But where is he now?" Danielle asked.

Dumbledore's smile disappeared. "That, Clara, I do not know. Vikram is quite a powerful and intelligent wizard—if he wishes to go into hiding, then even I would not be able to track him down. Do not worry," he said at Danielle's anxious look, "I will figure something out."

They sat in companionable silence for another minute before Danielle asked, "Sir, Tom is still acting…strange. He's really closed off—"

"You mean more than usual?" Dumbledore interrupted.

She nodded. "He's lying to me, sir, and he's not even bothering to hide it. Something different is going on… _he's_ been different since the incident in the Chamber."

"I am not certain what is bothering him, Clara," Dumbledore said in a soft voice. "But you know him better than anyone does. If anyone can, shall we say, _bring him back_ …it would be you."

"Yes, but…" Danielle struggled for the right words. "What if I can't? Then I would have stayed in the past for nothing. Granted, there were people trying to kill me in my own time, but I was caught through my own fault…if I hadn't talked to Teddy and let the Slytherins overhear me then I might have been safe—"

"It is too late for that now," the professor interrupted. "You cannot go back to 2011 unless you obtain a Time-Turner from the Ministry, and even then it is not justified that you would get back to your own time, since, if you remember, only the first generation have been built that does not allow one to travel to a specific period of time. No, Clara, you will have to stay here."

"I know," Danielle sighed. Her shoulders sagged and she averted her eyes from Dumbledore's razor-sharp gaze, staring instead at the clock above the mantle. It was twelve-thirty—she would be meeting with Alphard soon. "I just…I don't want to have to choose a side. Whether I like it or not, Tom's killed at least three people—Abraxas, Erik, and Vincent Fletcher. But…" she trailed off, searching for some sort of explanation, "He didn't do it without a reason. Abraxas was trying to kill me, Erik was Grindelwald's spy, and Fletcher was spying on us...even though he was _your_ spy. Tom was also trying to fight off the curse at that time, so it would have been more difficult for him to resist."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "Do not make excuses for him, Clara."

"I'm not," Danielle tried to protest, but it was an outright lie. She let the last word trail off, and she stared hopelessly up at Dumbledore, wishing he would come up with a wonderful piece of advice or solution for her.

But unfortunately, that wasn't to be. "I cannot make your choices for you," he said quietly, but there was pity in his bright blue eyes. "Believe me, Clara, I know what it feels like to have to choose between who you are and who the people you love want you to be."

Danielle nodded, hating the way she choked up at his words—he must have been talking about Grindelwald. How would she be able to survive, if Tom decided to become Voldemort anyway and then was caught and thrown in prison? What would she do then?

She was about to ask Dumbledore that very question when the sitting-room door swung open and Dylan stepped in, a look of shock crossing his face when he saw Dumbledore. "Er, hello, Clara, and…Professor Dumbledore."

"I hope you do not mind my impolite entrance into your manor," Dumbledore apologized. "It was frightfully rude of me."

"No, don't worry about that," Dylan said. He appeared to be searching for the most courteous way to pose his next question, but finally appeared to give up as he asked, "Why are you here?"

Danielle answered for him; she gave a quick explanation of what Dumbledore had told her, leaving out their conversation about Tom. Dylan bit his lip worriedly when she mentioned that the Ministry was still searching for them, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"We're leaving for Albania soon, anyway," she reassured him. "We won't even stay here the full week if you're uncomfortable with it."

"Albania?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully. "Is that where you and Mr Riddle have decided to go?"

Danielle nodded. "We're going to stay at the Druri Inn with Kaltrina. I'm sure she'll have a room for us."

"I can make sure she does," Dumbledore replied, placing a comforting hand on Danielle's shoulder. "I will owl her right away and inform her that you will be visiting there doing something for me. That way she won't—ah, what is the most diplomatic way to say this?—feel that you have broken her trust when you are staying at her inn as fugitives."

"Professor, you have done _way_ too much for me," Danielle told him. He laughed at her modern vernacular and stood up.

"Well, Clara, believe me when I say that the pleasure is all mine."

Dylan seemed about to ask what other things he had done for her, when Danielle heard the front door open. She jumped to her feet as well, hoping it was Tom, but her face fell when the sitting-room door opened again and Alphard stepped in, looking just as surprised as Dylan was to see Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, Mr Black," Dumbledore said, smiling broadly at him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Alphard said, a bit more shortly than he usually did, and turned to Danielle. "Ready for that walk, Clara?"

She nodded and made her way over to him. "He's promised to show me the grounds."

"See in you in an hour or three," Dylan called after them. As they exited the room, she heard Dumbledore offering him a lemon drop.

Alphard gallantly held the door open for her as they walked outside into the wet garden. The clouds had meanwhile turned an even darker shade of gray, and Danielle guessed that a storm was on its way.

As they walked around the side of the manor down a stone path lined with flowers that were just beginning to wilt in the autumn air, Alphard asked, "So what was Dumbledore here for?"

"He just told me that he hasn't had any luck convincing the Minister that I'm innocent and that Tom doesn't belong in Azkaban. Apparently Holstone's been sacked for sending me to Azkaban…at least _something_ turned out right." She allowed a smirk to cross her face as she glanced over at Alphard, who looked thoughtful.

"You and Dumbledore are really close, huh?" he asked, seemingly adding the _huh_ on as an afterthought.

"Yeah," Danielle nodded. "He helped me out a lot when I first arrived at Hogwarts. Tom absolutely despises him, though, as I'm sure you can already tell." She sighed and glanced up at the stormy sky, seeing a flash of lightning in the clouds. "Looks like we won't be able to go far."

But Alphard wasn't looking up at the sky; he was staring intently at her. "Where _is_ Riddle, anyway?"

Danielle scoffed. "How am _I_ supposed to know? He never tells me anything. Probably chatting up the barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron or something. He just said that he was going into London—no explanation or anything. Bastard has my wand, too."

Alphard gave a startled jerk. "He's not that bad."

Now it was Danielle's turn to look incredulously at him. "Are you kidding?" she asked. "You're so lucky to have Alyssa. You two actually have a _normal_ relationship. With Tom it's all lies and avoiding the truth. I don't know, Alphard…sometimes I wonder if it's even worth it. Hey, where's your ring?" When she'd mentioned Alyssa she'd glanced down at Alphard's bare hand.

"I left it upstairs," Alphard said breezily, but he covered his left hand. "I didn't want to lose it or anything."

Danielle frowned at him, but didn't press the point. "Anyway, what do you think? Is Tom worth it? You've known him for longer than I have."

It was a while before Alphard spoke, and when he did he sounded hesitant. "I think…you'd have to talk to Riddle about that. He certainly…cares for you."

"Yes, but _caring_ is not enough!" Danielle moaned. "I _care_ for Dumbledore. I _care_ for you. But I _love_ Tom. If he's not going to give me any more concern than most normal people do for their pets, then it's not worth it. And even if he _does_ more than care for me, he does a horrible job of showing it." She was reminded of the time he had confessed he'd loved her back in the Room of Requirement, but that memory was becoming more and more distant.

"Merlin, Clara," Alphard exclaimed from beside her. "Any fool can tell that Riddle is in _love_ with you. Can't you just leave the matter alone?"

This was so uncharacteristic that Danielle stopped walking and stared at him, taken aback. "Are you all right?"

Alphard immediately looked ashamed. "Yes, I'm sorry. I've just been really stressed out lately, with the wedding and all."

"But you don't need to be." Now it was Danielle's turn to reassure him; despite his outburst she was secretly pleased that Tom's… _love_ was visible to others. "Alyssa's parents are going to take care of everything."

Alphard was spared from answering by a loud rumble of thunder from above them. Danielle grabbed Alphard's arm and began to pull him back toward the house just as the rain began to pour down. She couldn't help but laugh as they raced back around the path and up the front steps, throwing the door open where they took shelter inside.

"Got stuck in the rain, did you?" Dylan asked; he was just going into the kitchen. Danielle assumed Dumbledore had left, as the sitting-room looked empty.

"Yeah. I didn't get to see much of the property, but I _did_ learn some things," she said, grinning at Alphard. It took him a few moments before he smiled back.

Dylan raised his eyebrows, but he didn't seem too interested as he headed back into the kitchen. Danielle and Alphard both went up the stairs, Danielle to go into her room and Alphard presumably to check on Alyssa. "Thanks for the walk," she called across the hall to him. "Sorry it was cut short."

He seemed distracted as he slipped inside Alyssa's room without bidding her goodbye. Danielle shrugged and went into her room, wondering if there was something in the air that was making everyone behave strangely.

* * *

Tom was just in time: as soon as he shut Alyssa's door behind him, the brown of Alphard's hair instantly gave way to black, and his face slimmed out and he grew taller. It had been more exhausting than he'd realized, pretending to be someone else; his muscles hurt from smiling so much.

When he'd completely returned to his normal self, he allowed himself a moment to gloat over his victory, taking the locket out of his robes and letting it dangle from his fingers; he couldn't help imagining how it would look on Clara's throat.

A movement from the bed jerked his attention back to reality; Alyssa was beginning to awaken. Smug at his excellent luck, Tom slipped the locket back into his robes and went over to the closet, unlocking it and dragging the real Alphard's still-limp body over to the bed and placing him beside Alyssa. Tom let his wand drop on the floor where he had found it, and, after making sure that everything was as he'd found it, he opened the door and stepped out of the room as his poor victims came back to reality.

* * *

Danielle was feeding Ophelia one of Alistair's owl treats when she saw Tom walk in, looking more than a bit pleased with himself. "How was London?" she asked innocently, shooting him the sweetest smile she could manage.

"Very interesting." Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold locket; it took Danielle a moment to realize what it was, and her eyes nearly popped right out of her skull.

"You _didn't!_ " she gasped. "Tom Riddle, how _dare_ you steal that locket—"

He crossed the room in two strides and placed his finger on her lips, although if she'd really wanted to she could have wrested his hand away. "Did you think I was going to let it slip out of my hands?" he asked, not waiting for her answer—he didn't need to. "I did not kill anyone," he added with a smirk, seeing the look on her face.

"You better not have—but _how?_ " Danielle's mind was racing with the possibilities that could occur now that he had the locket. Was he going to make a Horcrux with it? Did he just like looking at it? And, the most ridiculous one—was he going to give it to her?

"I will tell you as soon as you explain why you believe I am a bastard," Tom said triumphantly, slipping Slytherin's necklace back into his pocket.

"Excuse me, I never called you a bastard, and I, er— _shit_ ," Danielle swore as the explanation for Alphard's odd behaviour that afternoon suddenly occurred to her. "You used Polyjuice Potion, Tom? Seriously?"

"And you scold _me_ for lying," Tom said to her. "I asked the house-elf to fetch me a vial of Polyjuice Potion from Slughorn's cabinet at Hogwarts. Then I just had to make sure Black and MacDougal were, ah, _indisposed_ for a few hours."

There were so many things wrong with what he had done that Danielle didn't even know where to begin. She spluttered for a few seconds before finally settling on, " _That_ is why I called you a bastard. Why did you want that locket so badly?"

A look of greed flashed across Tom's face before he answered, "It rightfully belongs to me."

There was some truth to his words, but Danielle certainly wasn't going to tell him that. "All right then, _Alphard_ ," she said carefully, forcing her mind away from the locket. "What about that conversation we had in the gardens, then? Were you just telling me what you would think Alphard would say, or were you telling me the truth?"

After a moment, Tom said, "The truth. Clara, I do not want to have this conversation—"

"You might not _want_ it, but I _need_ it, Tom, all right? I need some reassurance whenever you're being, well, distant. I'm not you. I'm not self-sufficient."

Tom looked as if he was considering opening the window and jumping out. "Fine, Clara," he finally said, seeming a step away from pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his temples. "What do you want me to say?"

Now Danielle hesitated—did she really want to know the truth? But she forced herself to ask the question that had haunted her for so many long nights. "Are you in love with me?"

She'd expected Tom to look angry or annoyed—but he just looked, for lack of a better word, _weary._ "I have already told you the answer to that."

"But you've never said it," Danielle whispered. Tom just stared back at her, not speaking. "Why haven't you said it?"

"Because _you already know_ —"

"Then why can't you say it?" Danielle's voice was rising into hysteria, and she knew her face was bright red. Alistair gave an annoyed hoot from where their argument had woken him up, but neither of them paid him any attention.

Tom had turned into a statue; he looked as if he was calculating the different consequences of each thing he could say. In a quieter voice, Danielle asked, "Are you ever going to say it?"

This time, his answer was cold and sharp: "No."

The simple word stung right through to her heart, and she sank down onto the bed as if it had somehow knocked her balance out from under her. Tom turned around and left the room, closing the door sharply behind him, leaving Danielle to stare unseeingly out the window at the stormy afternoon and trying very hard not to cry.


	14. Hidden Motives

The atmosphere between Tom and Danielle was frosty for the remainder of the week; in fact, they barely spoke ten words to each other. Neither of them was willing to give in and apologize to the other, or even do something to relieve the tension that had been steadily building up between them.

Danielle knew that she was partly to blame, and that she'd been nagging at him probably more than she should have been. She often recalled Tom's words to her in the Room of Requirement: "Clara, I understand what you meant," he'd told her. "What you said to me last year. About love."

But how much of that had been heartfelt, and how much of that had been telling her what he knew she _wanted_ to hear? Tom was a master of manipulation. What if he was lying to her about what he saw in the Box of Desire and what a Metusa turned into for him? Danielle wouldn't put it past him.

And then, when he was pretending to be Alphard, he'd said, "Any fool can tell that Riddle is in _love_ with you." But perhaps he was just saying what he'd believed Alphard would say. _If that's the case, then why would he think Alphard would say that?_ a voice whispered in Danielle's ear every time she went over his words.

Besides, in Muggle terms, Tom would be classified as a sociopath, and sociopaths couldn't love. The fact that he couldn't say the damn words was another strike against him. Was it really that difficult? He implied that he _did_ love her, but she still doubted that it was the actual truth.

Part of her also realized that she was being irrational as well. She knew it was silly and insecure for her to keep pressing the point, especially when he'd told her multiple times that he wouldn't say it. So why did she still keep hoping? Did she expect him to walk up to her one day and apologize for all he'd done and then give her a letter that would declare his undying devotion to her like the heroes in romance novels? It was an absolutely preposterous idea. If she knew that he would never say anything, why was she being so stubborn? Why couldn't she just relent and give in to him? It would make things so much easier for both of them.

Danielle had been pondering over those questions for the past week, and she was still no closer to figuring out the answer. Her friends had noticed the sudden tension between her and Tom, but thankfully they hadn't broached the subject. She assumed he must be sleeping elsewhere, since he was never in their bedroom when she went to bed or when she woke up, although nobody had mentioned him taking another one of the guest rooms. Perhaps he waited until she was asleep before getting into bed and left the room as soon as he realized she was waking up? It seemed a bit of an extreme measure to Danielle, but then again…he was Lord Voldemort, and still had the potential to become so. She mustn't forget that.

It was the day before Mr and Mrs MacDougal were returning home from their trip to Greece; the day that Danielle and Tom were going to Albania. Nothing more had been said about their trip, so Danielle felt it safe to assume that they were still going…or Tom was, at least.

While she waited for them to leave, she found herself in the front garden, throwing pieces of bread to the swans and ducks. By now she hated being left alone with her melancholy thoughts, and would gladly welcome any distraction that happened to come her way—even if that distraction happened to be in the form of a tiny, red-haired girl with far too much energy and personality to be contained in such a short stature.

"I knew I'd find you out here, Clara," Alyssa said, plopping onto the stone bench beside her and tearing a piece of the loaf of bread out of her hands and throwing it at one of the smaller swans, who attacked it in a flurry of feathers. "You've been brooding all week. What happened with you and Tom?"

"Nothing," Danielle said. Before Alyssa could raise her eyebrows or make some sort of disbelieving remark, she continued, "It's true. It's _because_ nothing happened that we're not speaking to each other. Well, I'm sure he'll find some way to blame it on me, but I refuse to speak to him first—"

"Clara," began Alyssa, "I need you to tell me something, and I want you to be honest. Has Tom ever…cursed you or even hit you?" Her voice mercifully dropped lower during the last part, and she cast a furtive glance behind them as if he would be watching them from the window.

"Well, er…no," Danielle said lamely, although she could tell Alyssa wouldn't buy it. In reality, he'd tried to kill her, _contemplated_ killing her more times than she could count, manipulated her, insulted her, and cast the Cruciatus Curse on her. To be fair, most of those instances had occurred when he was under the curse's influence, but Danielle privately felt that they were still applicable.

"I knew you'd lie to me," Alyssa sighed, averting her gaze from Danielle's and staring out at the birds instead. "But I'm just concerned for you—you know that, right?"

" _Alyssa_ ," Danielle prodded her gently in the ribs. "It's not an… _abusive_ relationship or anything. It's just…different."

"I can see that," her friend said wryly. "It's very, very extreme. I used to think I wanted a love like that, but now I just want Alphard. He can never be as thrilling or as passionate or look at me the way I sometimes see Tom looking at you, but it's enough for me."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Danielle said quietly, staring down at her feet. It was a cool late September day, and the chilly breeze sent goosebumps across her skin.

"So what you're saying is that Tom can be very…volatile?" Alyssa asked hesitantly, unusually serious.

Danielle briefly considered teasing her about using such a complex word, but sensed that it wasn't the time for levity. "Yes," she sighed. "I dunno…sometimes I don't think I'm enough for him."

"You must be, or else he wouldn't be tagging along after you," her friend replied, a tiny smile appearing on her lips. "I think you underestimate yourself, Clara. Don't be so thick."

"Thick about what?" Danielle asked stupidly, but Alyssa just waggled her eyebrows mysteriously.

"Anyway, I just thought that you and him were going through some sort of romance novel agonizing breakup," she said.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know the kind, don't you?" Alyssa teased; the atmosphere lightened instantly. "The boy and girl meet, slowly fall in love, and just when they think things are fine they break up for some really stupid reason and spend the next three hundred pages agonizing over their lost love, and then they are thrown back together by some miraculous twist of fate."

"Lyssa, are you comparing my life to a romance novel?" Danielle asked, half-amused, half-aghast.

"No—I just thought I could see a pattern," answered Alyssa. "At least you and Tom have that tortured passion thing going on. Anyway, don't let your life become like one of those books that Mother used to keep hidden away and that I secretly read when I was little. Don't wait for fate to do something, Clara."

"Since when did _you_ become Professor Dumbledore?" Danielle said, but she carefully filed away her friend's words to analyze later. "Who told you to say this?"

"Nobody," Alyssa tried to insist, but she couldn't meet Danielle's eyes. After a minute of silence, she burst out, "Fine, I got it from the advice column in _Witch Weekly_ , but you can't say it wasn't helpful!"

Danielle had to laugh in spite of herself. "Merlin, Lyssa, I appreciate your effort, but I'm not sure the editors at _Witch Weekly_ were thinking about my kind of situation when they wrote that. It's even more complicated than you can imagine—believe me."

"Then tell me the truth and I'll look up some better advice for you!" Alyssa teased, but Danielle could sense the curiosity that ran through her tone. She bit her lip and stared at her friend, wondering if it was safe to confide something else to her—not the whole story, but an abridged version of it…

But then she remembered Alyssa's complete and utter inability to keep secrets, and what Tom's face would look like if he ever discovered that Danielle had confided in her. Instead of pouring out her heart, Danielle drove an even larger wedge between the two of them and merely sighed, saying, "It's really, really complicated, Lyssa."

She expected Alyssa to protest, to say that she had time and that she swore she would be able to keep a secret, but surprisingly Alyssa was silent for a very long time. Danielle had almost forgotten she was there when she suddenly spoke, making her jump.

"You know, Clara, I used to think my life would be perfect if Tom ever showed any interest in me. Now that I've grown up a bit and have gotten to know him a bit better, I wouldn't trade places with you for the world, and it's not because I'm engaged to someone else now." Alyssa gave a weak grin and patted Danielle's hand once before standing up and quietly walking away.

Well, _that_ had been an uplifting conversation. Danielle waited until she was confident Alyssa had gone back into the manor before standing up herself and brushing some dead leaves off her dress, slowly beginning to make her way back to the house. Something about the conversation had triggered her desire to see Tom again; Alyssa had been right: she couldn't just sit back and let Tom come to her. Danielle might be stubborn, but _he_ was absolutely unparalleled. She would just be fighting a losing battle.

Still… _was_ there such a thing as fate? Danielle hadn't given it much thought one way or the other, but she had to admit it was an interesting concept. It would appear as if the answer would be no: Tom's fate was to become to Lord Voldemort, but so far she had managed to change that. Wasn't she defying Fate, anyway, by merely being a time-traveller?

So, if that was the case, and Fate was nothing more than a fabricated concept, an illusion, did that mean Tom wasn't _destined_ to become Lord Voldemort? Yet Danielle had always thought of him as eventually becoming a Dark wizard; she treated and spoke to him as if he was. Her actions were always coloured with the notion that he was and would always be Voldemort. Could she be just perpetuating a self-fulfilling prophecy? If she believed that there was still hope for Tom, and that he wouldn't be lost in the darkness of his own soul, could she change things?

Ironically, he felt the exact _opposite_ about her: he was always lecturing her that he could not be redeemed, that there was no point in even trying, because he seemed to believe that his fate was cemented. Danielle had and did believe that there was still hope for him, but had it ever crossed the line between fanciful, childish thinking and turned into something tangible? She thought not.

 _And_ —she literally stopped dead as a thought occurred to her—she'd always been bouncing back and forth between the two beliefs: that Tom's fate was cemented, or that she could change him. Depending on what she'd guessed at the time, she'd treated him as such. Didn't that mean she was a hypocrite? She always complained that Tom acted differently towards her, but she'd never given any thought to the fact that she acted differently toward _him_ as well.

Of course, that didn't mean she could treat him like he was a normal person: quite the opposite, in fact. It would be idiotic to forget that the potential to be Lord Voldemort was still very much alive. But she couldn't take it as something for granted, either. Instead of vacillating back and forth between the two extremes, Danielle had to find some sort of middle ground. She had to let matters take their course naturally, but she also had to know when to step in.

Danielle began walking again, propelled forward by her thoughts and the feeling that she had just stumbled upon something crucial. It was, she thought happily, exactly the sort of thing that Dumbledore would tell her. Perhaps his influence was beginning to rub off on her.

She went into the manor feeling much more cheerful, but it wasn't long before her optimism began to wear off. Tom wasn't in the sitting-room, the kitchen, their bedroom, or even any of the guest rooms. With sympathetic looks, her friends all proclaimed they hadn't seen him at all that day either. Perhaps he had gone into London again; Danielle wouldn't be surprised if he'd decided to steal Hufflepuff's cup while he was at it.

"Where are you, Tom Riddle?" she muttered to herself as she turned on her heel and began to stalk out of their bedroom; she'd even foolishly checked under the bed and in the wardrobe.

But she most certainly hadn't expected to hear a familiar, mocking voice right behind her: " _Here_."

Danielle whirled around, startled; she didn't even have her wand to defend herself. The air in front of her shimmered as Tom lifted the Disillusionment Charm and took a step toward her. She couldn't tell whether he looked angry or amused.

"I should have known," Danielle muttered to herself before glaring at him with all the force she could muster. "How long have you been following me around?" she demanded.

"Since you were in the garden," Tom replied; his fingers were curled around her wand. "You did not notice me."

"Yeah, I think we've already established that," she replied. "Why _were_ you in the garden anyway?"

"I was going to tell you that I was prepared to leave for Albania," he answered—yes, he was definitely amused. Danielle, at least, could take some small relief in the fact that he didn't appear to be angry at her. "But your conversation with Miss MacDougal sounded rather… _interesting_ , so I chose to turn my focus on that instead."

"Did you learn anything from it?"

"Not particularly," Tom said carelessly, glancing away from her and drumming his fingers on the bedpost; it was an odd gesture for him and she found her gaze traveling to it as well. It was a sign of agitation, but she had no idea why he would be uptight. "I must admit that I do feel sorry for Mr Black—surely he had no idea what he was getting himself into when he proposed to Miss MacDougal. He will spend the rest of his life regretting that decision."

"And how do _you_ know?" Danielle asked through clenched teeth. "Maybe he proposed to her because he loves her."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it had been a mistake: just the word brought the memories back from their row at the beginning of the week, and she clapped her hand over her mouth as Tom's knuckles whitened—he was gripping the bedpost so tightly Danielle was afraid it would snap under his hand. There was a horribly stilted pause for several seconds, until he said in a neutral tone that made it impossible to guess what his true emotions were, "Touché, Clara."

The atmosphere between them had been strained ever since they'd arrived at MacDougal Manor—indeed, ever since they'd both been sent to Azkaban. The last time they'd had any semblance of normality was, Danielle realized with a jolt, at King's Cross when he'd left for Hogwarts. Had that really been a month ago?

Tom released his grip from the bedpost and turned away from her, about, she was sure, to leave. "Wait," Danielle called brokenly after him, without even being sure herself why she'd said it.

He didn't turn back around, but he slowed his pace and she knew instinctively that he was listening. _Swallow your pride,_ Danielle told herself firmly before blurting out, "I don't want us to fight anymore, Tom. I'm sick of it. Look, I'm sorry for what I said last week. It was my fault."

He was still for another moment before slowly turning around to face her, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "You were the one ignoring me, Clara," Tom said. "I did nothing."

Danielle stared at him, spluttering indignantly, "Then why didn't you do something about it? Why weren't you talking to me either?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to apologize," Tom said matter-of-factly, in that infuriating way of his that made her feel as if she was nothing more than an experiment. "I will say that it was not _entirely_ your fault, as you honestly do not appear to be capable of learning from your mistakes…but I am impressed; I did not expect you to hold out for a week."

Danielle felt furious, angry tears building up in her eyes, but she forced them back and said in a thick voice, "So is that all I am to you? Something to toy with when you get bored? Well, if that's the case, _Riddle_ , then good luck getting to Albania by yourself, because so help me, I'm not going to—"

She'd expected that her speech would be interrupted some way or another; by Tom arguing over her, or by him simply turning around and walking away—but she certainly did not expect him to cross the room in two strides and slam her back against the wall, his mouth hard and bruising against hers.

It took Danielle a moment to process what had just happened—sudden, random physical contact wasn't the norm for Tom; in fact, he'd surprised her like this very rarely. So he must have an ulterior motive…

But she couldn't deny how wonderful it felt to have his body pressed up against hers again; the way she could feel his heart beating against her skin like they were the same person, the way his mouth hungrily sought hers, tasting and teasing and testing, the slow burning where their skin touched, the tiny gasps she made when he gave her air to breathe, the feel of his hands tight against her waist…

"Why are you doing this?" Danielle managed to gulp once she'd finally gotten enough air to speak.

But her question was answered even before Tom could speak: there was an awkward cough from the door and over Tom's shoulder she could see the silhouette of Dylan hovering just inside the room, looking rather embarrassed.

"Er, hi," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that the fireplace is ready and we found some extra Floo Powder."

"Thank you, Mr MacDougal," Tom replied smoothly. "We will be there shortly." Danielle saw the shadow disappear from the door and heard footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Now she was left to stare up at Tom, humiliated but defiant. His kiss had been a trick—he hadn't meant it. The door was still open, and besides, he would never have kissed her like that when he believed there was a chance someone could walk in on them, meaning he had been doing it for the benefit of Dylan, not because he'd wanted to.

"How could you do that?" Danielle whispered brokenly, forgetting about her promise to treat Tom differently, and pushed him away from her. He stepped back easily, but there was no emotion in his face or eyes. He was completely blank, detached as he had been before she'd met him.

"I will see you downstairs in five minutes," he said coldly, and turned away from her, with no explanation of his behaviour.

It was as if he'd slapped Danielle across the face. Fighting back a bitter wave of tears, she forced her shaking limbs to move and walked out of the room, barely managing to keep her composure until she reached the bathroom, at which point she burst into heaving, gasping sobs, trying unsuccessfully to hold the tears back.

 _Why_ was he being like this? He'd been different ever since the reopening of the Chamber and his time in Azkaban. Something had changed him, pushed him away from her and he'd shut himself off, but Danielle had no idea what it was. And just when she'd begun to be optimistic that she could treat him differently!

So what was she going to do now? Follow him to Albania and quietly endure his mood swings and his treatment of her like she was nothing more than a pet, or try to find somewhere else to hide in England? The latter was an impossible option, she knew, but so was the first. Maybe Alyssa _was_ right…maybe they did have an abusive relationship. Were people supposed to feel this much pain, this much uncertainty, when they were in love with someone?

Danielle didn't think so.

* * *

Tom could hear her choked sobs coming from across the hall, and he cast a Silencing Spell so that he wouldn't have to hear her crying—not because it irritated him, but because it cut through his skin like a knife. At least he could take some satisfaction from the fact that her anguish meant his plan had worked.

He needed to alienate her, to push her away. If she ever found out what he was planning to do, she would try to figure out some way to stop him, and Tom wasn't going to underestimate her this time. If anything, she had taught him that much.

She would be furious with him when she eventually did learn his true intentions, but Tom was not afraid of her anger. She would run away and perhaps even ignore him for a time, but Clara would always come back to him. Something stronger than a spell held both of them together, as if they were entwined with an invisible connection that was neither tangible nor visual, but that existed all the same. And Tom knew that he would always come back to her, as well.

For Tom did love her, but he couldn't say it. He _refused_ to say it—if he did, it would open up a flood of additional obstacles that would prevent him from accomplishing what he was planning to do. He had very nearly ruined everything when he had taken the Polyjuice Potion, and although he had been in Alphard Black's body at the time, his words still rung true. He had very nearly said it, and he couldn't afford slips of the tongue again. No, it would be better if he were to make her despise him as much as possible, to question their relationship without making her leave outright.

It would be easier for him…safer for _her_.

But Tom, although he knew logically that he was doing the right thing in order to help him gain what he had desired for so long, couldn't stop the foreign feeling of guilt that twisted at his insides as he heard Clara's sobs. His kiss just before Dylan MacDougal had interrupted them hadn't been so much of a ploy to make her believe that he was just manipulating her as it was the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to touch her in such a way for a very long time. It was a sentimental, foolish thought, he knew, that he already regretted what he was going to do, but it was necessary.

At least that was what he'd told himself.

There was a sudden, sharp pain in his hand, and Tom looked down to see a thin trickle of blood dripping from his hand, bright crimson against the paleness of his skin, from where he had dug his fingers into Clara's mirror when he'd put his hand down on the writing-desk. He had been unconsciously clutching it so hard that it had shattered into pieces, digging into his skin. After muttering a quick _Reparo_ and healing his finger, Tom walked over to the bed and sat down on it, fighting back the wave of exhaustion. He had slept very little in the past week, and although he had tried to suppress it the fatigue was beginning to catch up with him. He'd spent the nights scouring the MacDougals' bookshelves for any useful information; unfortunately, he hadn't come up with anything particularly interesting. Still, even sitting down helped to ease some of the tiredness—another shameful human weakness. Just like the feeling that one of the pieces of glass from Clara's mirror had embedded itself into his heart as he still continued to hear her sobs echo in his mind, although he couldn't actually hear them.

Tom set his jaw and forced himself to think of the ultimate consequence as he reluctantly stood up again, forcing his aching muscles to comply, before leaving the room.


	15. In Essence Divided

Alyssa found her several minutes later, after most likely wondering why she hadn't gone downstairs yet. She took one look at Danielle's tearstained face and a furious expression crossed her normally cheerful features. "What happened _this_ time?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Danielle.

"Nothing, honestly," Danielle replied, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and trying to edge past her friend out of the room. But for such a short person, Alyssa was extremely strong (it must have been all those years of fighting with her brother) and refused to step aside.

"Clara, _something's_ wrong," she said plaintively. "I've almost never seen you cry, and you and Tom have barely spoken to each other the past week. Now, either you tell me what happened right now, or I'm going to have to use Legilimency on you."

"Lyssa…" Danielle began. "I'm just overreacting. Please let it go."

She half-expected Alyssa to refuse, to keep her stuck there until she blurted out the truth (or a lie) but, to her relief, Alyssa relented and stepped outside—perhaps she sensed that Danielle simply wasn't going to tell the truth. She'd always been tight-lipped on the subject of her and Tom's relationship, and forcing her to answer questions under pressure wasn't going to be any more effective.

Keeping her head down, Danielle crossed the hallway back to her temporary bedroom, unsurprised to see that Tom still had her wand, as it wasn't anywhere to be found. For all of his emotional stuntedness, did he _really_ think that she was going to allow him to treat her like she barely existed _and_ that she was going to let him keep her wand? If so, he was definitely in for a surprise.

She grabbed her suitcase with one hand and Alistair's box with the other. Alyssa was hovering at the door, looking hesitant, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid Danielle would take it the wrong way. Danielle sighed and stopped in front of her, bracing herself for the worst. "Spit it out, Lyssa."

"Have you…have you…" Alyssa quickly glanced behind them, as if checking to make sure no one was listening, before dropping her voice and whispering, "Have you had a miscarriage?"

" _What?_ " Danielle stared at her, stunned. "How in the name of Merlin did you get that idea?"

"Well, that's how couples sometimes act if there's been a miscarriage…I mean, you and Tom have barely talked and you've run off to cry by yourself. He seems even _more_ stoic than usual." Alyssa trailed off, suddenly looking lost. "That's how Mother and Father acted when it happened to them."

Danielle scrambled for something comforting to say. "No, Lyssa, I can promise you it has nothing to do with that or with babies at all. If I'd miscarried, I think I would be even _more_ emotional than I am now." Well, at least that was putting things into perspective—her situation _could_ be worse.

Alyssa looked immensely relieved. "Good. I was just worrying about you."

"Don't be," Danielle told her firmly. She reached out and squeezed Alyssa's hand reassuringly. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"Don't be," echoed Alyssa, smiling faintly. "It happened a long time ago—Dylan and I were only a couple of years old. I can still remember Mother screaming when she found out. They never told us anything about it, but when Dylan and I got older we realized what had happened. Now my only concern is that something similar might happen to me when…when Alphard and I get married."

Danielle thought of her time in 2050, and the reverence in Sylvia Black's voice when she'd spoken of Alyssa and Alphard's children; the way Cepheus's eyes were a replica of Alphard's and how Perseus looked just like his grandfather. "You know what, Lyssa?" she asked, pushing her problems with Tom out of her mind for a brief moment. "I don't think you need to worry about that."

Of course, she couldn't ignore the Tom-shaped problem in her heart for very long. She and Alyssa arrived downstairs to see Dylan and Alphard standing sheepishly in front of the fire, where the embers were glowing a dull green. "He just left," Alphard said, gesturing lamely at the empty fireplace. "He said he wasn't going to wait for you, Clara."

"Why am I not surprised?" Danielle muttered, but it was impossible not to wince as a horrible stabbing pain tore at her insides. She could feel the tears beginning to surge up again, but this time she successfully forced them down, swallowing hard and feeling them burn her throat, as she said her goodbyes to her friends. "Thank you so much for letting us stay here," she said, including 'Tom' in her blanket statement, although he probably wasn't grateful at all. "If it wasn't for you, I honestly have no idea where we would have gone."

"It's not a problem," Dylan said as he awkwardly hugged her with one arm, not wanting, it seemed, to get too close. "You're welcome back anytime, you know…as long as you're not being pursued by the Ministry of Magic."

"You're coming back for the wedding, right?" Alyssa asked after Danielle had hugged Alphard. "It's the ninth of December, remember?"

"Yes, I do and I am planning on being back here by then," Danielle agreed. "If my name isn't cleared by then, well…I guess I'll just have to find some Polyjuice Potion."

"You can pretend you're one of the estranged Black cousins sneaking into the wedding, we've got loads," Alphard said. Danielle smiled at him and, adjusting Alistair's box in one hand, prepared to step into the fireplace.

"Tell Skender hello from us!" Alyssa called back to her. Danielle gave her a thumbs-up, as the roar of the fire was crackling in her ears and making it impossible to speak.

She gathered up a handful of Floo powder in her free hand and, clearing her throat, called out, "Druri Inn, Tirana!" She caught one last glimpse of Alyssa, Dylan and Alphard waving at her before she was yanked back into the array of fireplaces.

* * *

If Danielle had been in a better mood, she would have been pleased at how well she was coping with the nauseating sensation of Floo'ing halfway across Europe. Normally she would have been trying hard not to vomit, but she found her stomach remarkably compliant when the spinning abruptly stopped as she was thrown hard onto the floor covered with another familiar Persian carpet, but one that was much different from the one at MacDougal Manor.

"Clara!" a reedy voice called, and a pair of gnarled hands helped Danielle up to a standing position. She smiled brightly at Kaltrina, the old woman who owned the Druri Inn. Kaltrina looked exactly the same as she had two years before, if slightly more wrinkled and tired. Nevertheless, her energy still appeared as boundless as ever as she rushed to grab Danielle's luggage.

"Hello, Kaltrina," Danielle said. "I, er, suppose I don't have to use an alias this time?"

She shook her head and muttered something under her breath in Albanian, but it sounded friendly enough. "Skender told me your real names, but I don't…what is the English word?...blame you for not telling us the truth. Albus Dumbledore wrote me last week and requested that you be checked in as Ruth and Henry Davies, since you appear to have gotten in a spot of trouble." She lugged Danielle's suitcase out of the drawing-room and into the narrow hallway.

"I know there's more to the story than you are telling me," Kaltrina continued as they began up the stairs. Danielle felt it wisest not to speak, and was rewarded for her reticence when Kaltrina changed the topic. "Against regulation, I put you and Tom in the same room," she said, although she didn't look particularly scandalized. Pushing open one of the doors, she placed Danielle's suitcase at the foot of the bed, who had slipped inside after the old woman.

"It's the room you stayed in last time," she announced as Danielle placed Alistair's box on the windowsill. "I hope you don't mind."

"It's perfect," Danielle reassured her.

Kaltrina's wizened face broke into a smile. "You are too kind, Clara. I can tell you want to be alone. Dinner will be in twenty minutes—come downstairs if you want to. Brahim and Adelina will be so happy to see you again." She quietly slipped out the door, closing it behind her and leaving no doubt in Danielle's mind as to why she was so well-liked.

When she was confident she was alone again, she turned back to the window and pushed it open, feeling the cold night air rush in. It helped to clear her mind and think about her situation more logically—although a small part of her mind unhelpfully reminded her that although Tom's luggage was in the room, he was nowhere to be seen. Danielle wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to him at the moment—although the fact of the matter probably was that he had cast a Disillusionment Charm, as he had been recently doing so often.

"Tom?" she asked out loud to the empty room, but was only met by silence. Danielle's mouth twisted into an involuntary, humourless smile as she automatically reached down for her wand, only to find that it was not there.

"You can't stay like this forever," she whispered, but she wasn't even sure if she was talking to Tom or to herself anymore. Feeling her heart contract and twist, Danielle's eyes raked the deserted bedroom once more before she turned on her heel and left.

* * *

Unbeknownst to human or animal, Tom Riddle was prowling through the Black Forest—the same forest that he and Clara had searched for the diadem in a hundred and ten years in the future, and the same forest where he had found the fake diadem. But this time, at least, he wasn't looking for it. He was looking for something else, something that legends only guessed at.

It was speculated that the Black Forest was the epicentre of all Dark Magic in Europe, and that if one were to venture into it, they would find power beyond imagination. This, of course, intrigued and fascinated Tom. He was determined to probe the secrets of the forest in the months he would be staying in Albania. Surely here he could discover how to create a Horcrux.

Clara, he figured, would be safe at the Druri Inn. She was in no dire need of her wand, anyway, and Tom was willing to bet that he would put it to better use—at least in _his_ mind, he was.

Slytherin's locket hung around his neck, digging into his skin, but Tom ignored it. He had more important things on his mind than a slight discomfort; and if he couldn't stand pain, then what was the purpose of attempting to make a Horcrux? The limited research he had been able to do on the subject all stated that the process would be agonizing and those with a low pain threshold would have a lower chance of surviving, much less being able to successfully create a Horcrux.

A light suddenly flickered on in the distance between the towering trees, illuminating the forest floor and the thousands of dead leaves that crunched under his feet. Tom was immediately on guard, casting defensive spells around him and preparing to duel if need be.

But as he got closer, he discovered that it wasn't wandlight after all—it was emanating from a small building, tucked away in the middle of the forest. Tom would have been immediately suspicious if it wasn't for the fact that he could sense Dark Magic radiating from the building like sunlight. Tightly wrapped up in his traveling cloak, his dark hair ruffled from the wind, he stopped a hundred feet from the building and allowed a smirk to cross his face, reveling in the power he hadn't felt for so long, the alluring magic that seemed to rush through his veins the closer he got to it.

Tom tucked Clara's wand back into his robes and made his way up to the door, attempting to look as innocent as possible. The more like a lost traveler he looked, the more they would underestimate him, and Tom wasn't in the mood for dueling that night. He raised one hand and knocked several times on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and a figure completely shrouded in a long, dark cloak opened it. He was even taller than Tom, with his face covered by the billowing material. Tom couldn't even see the shadows of his face among the cloak; he might have been nothing more than empty air.

"Thomas Marvolo Riddle," a raspy, hoarse voice sounded from under the hood. Tom carefully concealed his surprise and anger at the fact that the stranger knew his full name. "I knew you would eventually discover this place."

"Who are you?" Tom demanded. "How do you know my name?"

"I know more things than you can imagine." The hooded figure stepped back from the door and disappeared into the darkness of the building. Tom drew Clara's wand again and held it out in front of him as he cautiously followed the figure inside, his curiosity awakened.

It was most definitely a pub—or at least, it _had_ been once. Dusty and cobwebbed tables and chairs were placed haphazardly around the room, and the only light stemmed from the dully flickering candles that were placed on several of the tables.

As he drew farther into the pub, Tom noticed that there were indeed others in there—but these were no ordinary witches and wizards. They were all dressed in dark cloaks such as the figure who had opened the door had been wearing, and their eyes all glittered with forbidden knowledge and temptations as they slowly slid past Tom. He refused to make eye contact with any of them, already sensing their loathing of him; this strange boy who appeared harmless. _Little did they know._

Tom wove around the tables until he found the hooded figure sitting near a window, although there was no point to it as it was the dead of night. Tom ignored the hungry gaze of a pale vampire drinking a flask of red liquid and sat down on the chair across from the hooded figure.

Neither of them spoke at first, each silently judging the other, until the figure raised his wand—long and thin, covered with unusual markings—and cast a silencing spell so that the low, muttering voices of the other patrons were drowned out.

"You are barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle. You have come here, to the place where Dark Magic ceases to be merely Dark and turns to Black Magic, because you think yourself destined to this area of magic. You are not the first to believe this, nor will you be the last."

"I have power others only dream of, and confirmation of that power," Tom bit out in spite of himself. He still couldn't see the wizard's face—only a hint of the shape of a head inside the seemingly endless hood.

"Overestimation of one's abilities does not equal power. In fact, the more a man brags about his strength, the weaker he truly is. Just look at what happened to Gellert Grindelwald."

"I am not weak," hissed Tom. He felt a cold wave of hatred for the stranger sitting in front of him and who appeared to know his name and why he was there. "I am a descendent of Salazar Slytherin."

"You believe you know everything about Slytherin, boy. Do you know the real truth?" When Tom didn't answer, the hooded figure continued, "I will tell you the side of the story that very few people know.

"Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin used to be the best of friends. They were closer than brothers. The legends speak of Gryffindor driving Slytherin out of the school because of their differing beliefs and because of Slytherin concealing a monster inside the Chamber of Secrets, but that is only half of the story.

"Shortly after the opening of Hogwarts, both Godric and Salazar fell in love with the same woman: Rowena Ravenclaw. She was thought to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and with her haughty charm and extreme intellect she was desired by thousands of men. She was eventually married—to a commoner, at that! He had no understanding of the depths of her character.

"But Rowena did not love him—she had made the marriage out of convenience—and both Godric and Salazar raced to convey their feelings for her. To prove his love, Salazar created a way to become immortal—Horcruxes—and after making one for himself, he had the vision that Rowena would create one as well and they would forever walk the earth."

"That is not possible," interrupted Tom. "Herpo the Foul invented Horcruxes—"

"Or so your history textbooks want you to believe," the figure said darkly before continuing on with the story. "But Rowena was horrified when she realized what Salazar had done, and she fled refuge in Godric's arms. At first, Godric being as chivalrous and noble as he was, he tried to push her away since they were both already married, but soon enough Rowena found herself pregnant with Godric's child. Godric confided this to Salazar—and that is the true reason why Slytherin left Hogwarts.

"Rowena gave birth to a girl named Helena, and pretended that she was her commoner husband's child. But Helena eventually fell in love with Sefton Slytherin, Salazar's son, and they eloped. Rowena, of course, was distraught by this, as she had rejected Salazar years before. For his part, Salazar was enraged. His son was marrying Rowena's daughter, and in his son he saw what might have been himself years before. He threw away any humanity he had left—for that is what creating a Horcrux does to you—it slowly seeps away at everything that makes you human until there is nothing left—and invented the Vetus Periculosus curse and cast it on Sefton, thereby ensuring that his descendants would carry the curse and be forever reminded of Rowena's rejection. In the end, however, Salazar won—Godric might have had a child with Rowena, but Sefton's and Helena's descendants live on as well."

"How do you know all this?" Tom demanded, although he had to admit the story was certainly fascinating: if it was true, he was descended from three of the Hogwarts founders.

"When you have lived as long as I do, boy, the truth slowly begins to become clear. Now, I can tell that you have not come here for pleasant stories. What do you want, boy? I can give you anything—any information you want to know."

Tom hesitated; he was grasping the handle of Clara's wand with a force that he was displeased to realize was tension. The stranger's words were enticing to him, whether his intentions were good or not. Moreover, he had to have some reason for knowing Tom's name; if Tom went along with his game, then perhaps he could find out what it was. "I want to know about Horcruxes," he said firmly, searching for any sign of a human face under the hood.

The stranger's head inclined forward, as if he were giving a nod. "I don't suppose you would have come across the information easily in Britain. They are stricter about the type of magic practiced there. But pretending something does not exist doesn't make it any less real. There are hundreds of wizards and witches who have created Horcruxes; if one studies the history books long enough, there are too many coincidences to be ignored."

Tom could not help himself: he said, "You just told me that history textbooks are untrustworthy."

"Most of them," the hooded figure replied—he sounded almost amused. "You just have to know which ones can be trusted. But creating a Horcrux is no simple or easy task, Tom Riddle. It is only for the strongest of wizards, and it requires skill as well as determination. Too many people have been killed attempting to make a Horcrux. But, if it is performed successfully, that wizard will possess the power of immortality."

"Yes, I know that much," Tom answered. During the speech, he had been attempting to probe the stranger's mind—but it was as if there _was_ no mind to begin with; nothing there at all. It unsettled Tom more than he cared to admit, and he began to wonder if he was really hearing a voice, or if it was only inside his own head. "I know it requires murder and a vessel to house the piece of soul in, but I do not know the incantation or the exact details of the process."

"It is not a pleasant process," the stranger explained. "It involves an enormous amount of pain—some have even described it as being worse than the Cruciatus Curse—and any number of things could go wrong. With every Horcrux made, the owner drifts farther away from humanity. As the years pass, the maker becomes less and less human themselves, until they remain a shadow of their former self. It is not, as I am sure you can imagine, a pleasant way to live. After all, what is the point of simply existing without truly feeling anything?"

Tom wasn't interested in his philosophical musings; instead he pressed, "So what is the incantation?"

"I will not tell you that quite yet, boy," said the stranger. "Did you think I was going to give up priceless information to you without receiving something in return? It is only a simple question; nothing of great difficulty."

This time, Tom did not care if the stranger noticed his discomfort; he tensed, glaring suspiciously at him and prepared to Disapparate if necessary. "What is it?"

"I want to know where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem is."

The question surprised Tom—how did the stranger know that he knew of its existence? But then again, he'd known his full name…sensing that something was not quite right, Tom narrowed his eyes but answered, "I believe it is with Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore? I do not doubt that…but it would be near impossible to take it from him…" Tom briefly wondered if he was going to demand that he steal it from Dumbledore…but he wasn't about to give in to this stranger's demands to get information he could obtain elsewhere.

Apparently the stranger seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he had, since he trailed off with his musings and tilted his head back up, so that Tom had the sensation he would be looking into eyes if he could see his face. "That is what I thought. Now that you have given me what I wished to hear, it is time for me to return the favour." He abruptly stood up, and the silencing spell cast around their table vanished in an instant. "Come with me."

* * *

The others were already eating dinner by the time Danielle reached the dining-room, which was rather unobtrusively tucked behind a narrow wooden door that was easy to miss if one wasn't looking for it.

Kaltrina sat at the head of the table, her shock of white hair billowing around her head. Next to her was Brahim, digging into the food with the air of someone who had eaten the same meal many times before. Danielle couldn't help but remember the fact that Brahim wasn't the one Kaltrina really had been in love with—she had told Danielle that she had once been in love with a Dark wizard named Ilir. Danielle couldn't help but wonder if Brahim knew of that, and if Kaltrina had ever managed to fall in love with her husband anyway, despite the fact that he wasn't what she had originally wanted.

Sitting at the opposite end of the table was—Danielle stiffened—Kaltrina and Brahim's granddaughter Adelina. She had been extraordinarily beautiful the last time Danielle had encountered her, and now she was nothing if not more striking. Her bright red hair was pulled back in a bow, and her haughty green eyes surveyed Danielle distrustfully.

But Danielle wasn't looking at Adelina: she was looking at the little girl perched in her lap. She knew instantly that this was Adelina's daughter: they were nearly identical, with the same delicate features and long red hair. The toddler's eyes were brown instead of green, however, and her nose looked slightly more pointed. She couldn't have been more than a year or two old, Danielle thought.

"Clara, this is Luana, Adelina's daughter. She just turned two," Kaltrina explained proudly.

Danielle was surprised. If she'd just turned two years old, that meant Adelina had been pregnant when and Tom had visited Albania in 1943. Perhaps that had something to do with her sour mood when they'd visited.

Luana made a garbled noise and reached her arms out for Danielle. She cast a questioning glance at Adelina, who sighed but lifted the toddler up so she could grab her.

The weight of a small child was unfamiliar to Danielle, and Luana was heavier than she'd expected. She adjusted her position so that Luana was sitting comfortably on the crook of her arm, her chubby hand grabbing one of Danielle's curls and yanking hard. Danielle tried not to wince as pain shot through her skull, while Luana shrieked happily and chattered in incoherent baby noises, mixed with words that Danielle vaguely recognized as Albanian.

"She's lovely," Danielle managed to say, although her head was still smarting from where Luana had pulled it. The toddler was eagerly moving around, trying to get used to a new person holding her, and Danielle was terrified that she would drop her. Adelina, sensing Danielle's discomfort, reached out her arms and Danielle gratefully handed Luana back over. No one made any mention of Luana's father, and Danielle didn't feel it appropriate to ask.

"Have a seat, Clara," Kaltrina began to say, but was interrupted by a warm, smooth voice declaring, "Has everyone forgotten about me now that there's a new visitor?"

Danielle whirled around to see the huge, hulking figure of Skender leaning against the wall. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed him when she'd come into the room—as tall and burly as he was, it was almost impossible _not_ to. She might have once been intimidated by him, but the eyes under the stern eyebrows were sparkling. "Skender!" she cried, and rushed to hug him.

"How's Georgie doing?" he whispered in her ear, his eyes suddenly turning worried.

"She's fine," Danielle assured him, pulling back and craning her neck to stare up at his face. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and someone like Alyssa would have hardly been taller than his elbow.

Skender's face broke into a relaxed smile, and he pushed himself off the wall, gallantly pulling out Danielle's chair for her. Everyone tucked into dinner as they began chattering about the day, including Danielle in the conversation so she wouldn't feel like she was being left out. Danielle was grateful for this; it meant she didn't have to think about Tom.

But he was always on the peripheral of her thoughts; everything she thought and felt and did had some connection to him. She couldn't tear herself completely from him—there was a hollow feeling in her chest, as if they were separated by some great distance. Perhaps they were. She could only guess as to where he was now.

When Luana fell asleep on Adelina's lap, her head resting against her mother's shoulder and her bright red hair mixing with hers so that it was impossible to tell which belonged to mother and daughter, Danielle smiled, thinking idly of what it would be like to have _her_ daughter fall asleep in her arms like that one day—but with a sharp jolt, she realized that would never be possible. She had given up all hope of a normal life, a family, once she had made the choice to be with Tom. She would follow him until her death, which was likely to be premature what with her propensity to get into danger. And he would most certainly not consent to her having his child if she did become pregnant.

There were contraceptive potions, certainly—Danielle had been taking them ever since their first night together in the Room of Requirement—and all she had to do was simply stop taking them; she didn't have to breathe a word about it to Tom. But she knew that was an extremely dangerous and foolish idea: she wouldn't, _couldn't_ , bring a child with a father like Tom into the world, not when it had the possibility of being burdened with Vetus Periculosus. It was selfish for her to even entertain such thoughts.

Danielle had never wanted a child, nor had she even remotely thought about the possibility of someday having one, but watching the tenderness with which Adelina and Luana interacted, she felt a gnawing ache at her heart and the sense that one of the doors in her future had been firmly shut, the key thrown away and Vanished.

There was a sudden tap on her shoulder, and Danielle jerked out of her melancholy thoughts to see Skender looking at her worriedly, and Kaltrina and Brahim staring at her from across the table; evidently she had lost track of the conversation. "Clara?" Skender asked. "Did you hear me? I asked if you know where Riddle is."

Danielle slunk down in her seat, staring down at the tablecloth. "Er…no," she said lamely. "I don't."

She averted her gaze from their questioning stares, although she imagined Skender looked a bit sympathetic, as if he hadn't expected anything else. Luckily, at that moment Luana woke up, screaming bloody murder, and everyone's attention was diverted, leaving Danielle to dream about what angry insults she could throw at Tom when he finally returned. Of course, she knew that she would never say any of them out loud, but it was certainly satisfying to imagine.

* * *

The night was no longer calm and still; instead, it had turned cold and blustery, the trees rattling the last of the leaves onto the ground, leaving the branches bare and empty. Clouds raced across the sky, propelled by the strong winds and blocking the light of the moon, but every so often a star would appear, twinkling, from behind a mass of clouds.

Tom, his shoulders hunched and his back straight, followed after the hooded figure through the forest, his curiosity awakened but his suspicion as strong as ever. How did the stranger know so much about Horcruxes? How did he know that much information about the Hogwarts Founders? And, most importantly, _how did he know who Tom was?_

A branch snapped from somewhere behind him, and Tom slowed his pace, turning around and pointing Clara's wand at the girl who was following him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Explain yourself!"

She was barely older than Tom, with soft fair hair that was tied up in plaits. She wore a bright red dress, visible even in the pitch-black darkness, with nothing but the light of the stars and moon to illuminate her. Her eyes were huge, terrified in her pale face, and she began to shiver when she met his gaze.

"Now, now, don't harm her." The hooded stranger had appeared again, materialized out of the darkness. He placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, who flinched away from him but made no move to run away. "This is Marigona, and she works at the…establishment we have just left. Her family is being paid to do our bidding."

Tom lowered his wand slightly, frowning in disbelief. The tightness of the dress she was wearing and the quantity of the makeup that covered her face suggested she was little more than a prostitute. He had not realized that the pub also served as a brothel for those practicing Dark Magic. This must have been where Adelina had once worked—where she had once suggested that Clara work as well. He pictured Clara stumbling through the forest, barefoot and alone like the girl in front of him, wearing a dress several sizes too small for her and a look of utter terror open her face, prepared to do whatever a strange man asked her to—and a wave of revulsion rose up inside him. It had been a good thing, then, that he hadn't allowed it.

"I was not looking for a companion," Tom said shortly, looking away from Marigona's huge eyes and back to the hooded figure.

"She does not necessarily offer _that_ kind of service," the figure said, sounding condescending. "Rather, she is the object of whoever wishes to practice Dark Magic on her."

"So there is a chance she will be killed?" Tom asked unfeelingly.

"Yes. That is why I said her family will be paid, not her specifically." The figure took his hand off her shoulder but shoved her toward Tom. She lost her balance and sprawled onto the ground, staring pitifully up at Tom as if waiting for him to command her to stand up. She still hadn't spoken a word.

"What do you intend to do with her?" said Tom, taking a step backward. His wand was still trained on her, but he was now looking at the stranger..

"You wish to make a Horcrux, do you not? And that requires murder."

Tom looked sharply at him. He had no qualms about killing the girl, but he certainly had not intended on creating a Horcrux that night. He always waited for days, months, _years_ before carrying out his plans, intending to execute them as perfectly as possible. He felt that the hooded stranger was pressuring him to do so, holding the fact that he knew information Tom didn't over his head. What if he gave Tom the wrong incantation?

"I only wish to assist you, Thomas," the stranger said as if he could read Tom's thoughts. "You will travel far and wide before you find someone with a knowledge such as mine. I have created Horcruxes myself."

"Prove it," Tom demanded, moving Clara's wand from Marigona to the figure.

"No, _you_ will prove it. Attempt to murder me." The hooded figure took a step forward, spreading his arms wide so that he was an easier target. "Do not tell me that you have never killed before, Tom Riddle."

Eyes narrowing at the perceived slight, Tom weighed his options. He could refuse, and risk more goading. On the other hand, if he cursed him, either he would die and Tom would be rid of him, or it would prove that he really did know how to make a Horcrux.

He made his decision in an instant: ignoring the ragged gasps of Marigona, he muttered _"Avada Kedavra!"_ and a jet of green light shot at the hooded figure; instead of him crumpling to the ground, the curse simply vanished just when the moment of impact should have been made, fading into the darkness.

Tom couldn't quite hide his shock; he hadn't actually expected for the curse to fail.

"Do you believe me now?" the figure asked, folding his arms and bending his head toward Marigona, who had begun to cry. "Will you believe what I say?"

Tom wasn't so quick to answer that one; although he knew that he should not blindly follow the advice of the stranger—what if he gave him the wrong information?—but even so, this was the closest he had ever come to achieving his goal, and he knew he did not want that opportunity to vanish. He was taking a risk to get what he wanted more quickly, and the hooded figure knew he would eventually agree.

These were qualities found more abundantly in the adult Voldemort, although they worked sufficiently on Tom as well. After a long silence, Tom finally nodded. "I wish to create a Horcrux," he said.

"Good. The incantation itself is very simple—Erratus Anima, which roughly translated means 'losing one's soul'. That is precisely what making a Horcrux is—you are trading part of your humanity for immortality. I trust you are prepared to make that decision?"

Tom did not answer—inexplicably, Clara's face appeared in his mind, pleading with him not to create a Horcrux—but he firmly pushed it away, struggling to concentrate on the dizzying headiness of power.

"First, one must cut all ties with anything that associates them with humanity—whether it is love, family, or kindness. That cannot exist in one's soul when it is split. If performed unsuccessfully, the caster risks killing or severely damaging themselves. You must completely sever anything that ties you to an ordinary witch or wizard. It cannot exist in your thoughts or memories. Next, you will commit the act of murder, the easiest part of the ritual—"

Marigona began sobbing out something in Albanian. With a flick of his wand, the hooded figure silenced her before continuing. "—And perhaps the most satisfying. After the victim has been disposed of, one must place the object they wish to house the piece of their soul in and place it on the body, at which point they place their wand on their chest and recite the incantation. If done properly, part of the soul will then be removed from the body."

It sounded simple enough, but Tom had the sense that he was leaving something out. Nevertheless, he gave a quick nod, signaling that he understood. His desire and greed to become immortal was overriding the logical part of his brain.

"Are you ready to begin?" the figure asked. Without waiting for Tom to answer, he continued, "First you must erase your past from your mind. Let go of it; it is inconsequential. You cannot harbour any thoughts about any person or place you may have encountered. Forget them."

Once, Tom would have been able to do that without a problem. Once, this would have been the easiest part of the ritual for him. But as it was, he was finding it quite difficult to push the memory of Clara, and the memory of Hogwarts, the one place he had felt _truly_ at home, out of his mind. His frustration at not being able to properly bury his emotions was overshadowed by anger at her for clouding up his thoughts, although by all accounts it was not her fault. Tom was very aware of his surroundings—the cold wind on his skin, the distant calls of owls in the trees, and the ragged gasps of Marigona. He had the infuriating feeling that the hooded stranger was laughing at him, and that more than anything else caused his rage to boil up and spill over. Before he even fully realized what he was doing, he spat _"Avada Kedavra!"_ at the hapless witch squirming on the forest floor. She didn't even have time to see the curse shooting at her before she collapsed onto the ground, dead.

Tom's veins were shooting with a peculiar sort of electricity as he stared at the dead girl's wide, blank eyes with a strange sense of disbelief, as if it hadn't actually been him who had cast the curse. Although she and Clara looked nothing alike, something about the look of alarm still lingering in her eyes reminded him of her, and the body in front of him seemed to shimmer and morph into an entirely different one, with long, curly dark hair and large gray eyes.

"Good," the stranger praised, oblivious to Tom's imaginings. "Now take out the object you have chosen to house the Horcrux and place it on her body. I trust you have brought one?"

It took Tom several seconds before he managed to pull the locket over his head and pop open the clasp before kneeling down and placing it on Marigona's abdomen. He had the sudden urge to vomit, although he had no idea why, and it unsettled him. He was finding it impossible to keep his emotions at bay. What had happened?

"Slytherin's locket," said the figure, and there was cold amusement in his voice. "I should have guessed you would find some way to obtain it, Tom Riddle. Now place your wand on your chest and recite the incantation."

Tom didn't look at him as he turned Clara's wand around so that it was just touching his chest. Something felt fundamentally _wrong_ about using her wand to create a Horcrux. Perhaps the wand was rebelling against him—he wouldn't be surprised if that was why he felt so strange. But he would not let a foolish little girl interfere with the plans he had been making since he was eleven years old.

" _Erratus Anima,"_ he ordered, although the words sounded uncertain even to his own ears.

It was his last observation before he broke.

Pain exploded in him like he had been set on fire—the electricity had been consumed by an agony the likes of which he had never imagined—he had surely been set ablaze—no, he had to be dead. He was in Hell. There was no other explanation for it.

Even Tom, with his nearly inhuman threshold for pain, could not stand the anguish. He screamed, the sound ripping from his throat and shattering the silence of the forest. He collapsed onto the ground next to Marigona, oblivious to everything but his own torture. The hooded stranger watched in disgust as he turned his head and vomited blood onto the ground, although this time it had nothing to do with Vetus Periculosus. He hadn't done it properly—he hadn't become completely detached. His soul had been split—that was the cause of the unbearable torment—but it hadn't left his body as it was supposed to. It still stayed, trapped inside him, burning a hole inside his chest. If everything had gone properly, the pain should only have lasted a moment.

Still, the stranger had to admit he was impressed. Most men would have been dead by now—in fact, he didn't think he had ever seen anyone else last that long. Yet, it would probably have been more of a blessing to be dead.

The boy's screams cut off abruptly; he spat up one more mouthful of blood and lay prone on the grass. He was unconscious but, thankfully, still breathing—his chest rose and fell rapidly; his pale skin and dark coat were streaked with blood. The stranger's gaze flickered over Slytherin's locket once more as he turned his gaze to the broken boy on the ground—when he'd first encountered Tom, he'd believed, if only for a moment, that he would be different from the hundreds of others who had been eager to create Horcruxes, who thought they deserved power and a better life.

He had been wrong.

The hooded stranger turned around and silently Disapparated, making no move to help either of the bodies.

* * *

When Danielle arrived back to her room after supper, she was not astonished in the least to see that Tom still wasn't there—but her attention was quickly diverted when she spotted Ophelia, twittering madly and buzzing around her head, seeming agitated. Danielle darted a quick glance over at Alistair, who appeared to be fast asleep.

"What is it, Ophelia?" she asked, holding out her hand so the Snidget could fly onto it. But Ophelia wasn't interested in Danielle—she kept throwing herself against the window, making the panes of glass rattle and with a wild look in her bright red eyes.

Concerned, Danielle crossed the room and pushed open the window, but the ground outside appeared to be deserted. Ophelia immediately flew out of the window, but didn't fly away—she hovered just outside, screeching so loudly Danielle was afraid she would wake up the neighbouring houses. "Shush!" she ordered the Snidget, but when that proved to be ineffective she wondered what had Ophelia so upset. Did she want Danielle to follow her? That was certainly unusual…she'd never acted like this before. Tom had placed a Tracking Charm on her when he'd first gotten her so she could keep track of Danielle… _but,_ was it possible that the charm worked both ways? Could Tom be in danger and Ophelia was trying to lead her to him?

"Damn it, I wish I had my wand," Danielle muttered to herself, torn. She knew that Tom could look after himself…but if he truly _was_ in danger, then something major had to have happened. And if Ophelia continued to make that racket she would wake up the entire street.

The notion that Tom might be injured, despite her anger at him, finally propelled her to open the window wider and swing her legs over it, thankful that their room was close enough to the ground for her to jump.

She felt like Cathy Linton sneaking out of Thrushcross Grange as she dropped to the ground, landing in a crouching position. She'd twisted her ankle slightly, but the pain was relatively easy to ignore. Straightening up to her full height, Danielle walked quickly after Ophelia, keeping her eyes fixed on the Snidget, the only spot of gold light in the otherwise stifling darkness.

But it soon became clear, once they had left the property and crossed over into a forest, that blindly following the Snidget had _not_ been a wise idea. Although Albania's climate was much warmer than that of England, Danielle still found herself shivering as she plunged through the rows of trees, terrified she would lose sight of Ophelia. She kept imagining a pair of eyes watching her, and even if that unsettling feeling turned out to be true, she would have no way to defend herself—she wouldn't even be able to Disapparate since she didn't have her wand.

Danielle raised her hand and held it just before her face; she couldn't even see that. She kept knocking into trees and kicking branches, but she could still somehow see Ophelia's light, as if she was a ship lost at sea and moving in the direction of a lighthouse. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she kept telling herself after she failed to notice a stream and had fallen in, soaking the left half of her robes and hair. She could just imagine green slime dripping from her clothes like some sort of sea monster.

She was just about to call out to Ophelia, begging her to lead her back to the inn, when the gold light in front of her suddenly stopped. Danielle quickened her pace, hoping that she'd finally found something—but her foot caught on something heavy and warm and she tripped over it, landing on her already injured arm. She rolled several feet before her hand came into contact with a wand, and she instantly snatched it up, letting out a disbelieving shout when she realized it was _her_ wand, molding to her fingers in a way she had never fully appreciated before. So Ophelia _had_ led her to Tom.

" _Lumos!"_ Danielle whispered, and the light that blazed from her wand was so bright she had to close her eyes and stagger backwards; it blinded her completely. When she did manage to squint against the bright light, she felt Ophelia lightly land on her shoulder, still sounding insistent. Danielle turned back to see what she had tripped over—and immediately wished she hadn't, for her eyes landed on a crumpled body with a tangle of blonde hair and a too-short dress. She didn't need to reach for a pulse to know that the girl was dead: her eyes stared blankly up and Danielle, unseeing and glassy. But that wasn't what prevented her from looking away: something about her seemed _familiar_ , but Danielle couldn't place where…had she seen her before?

And then the answer hit her in a painful burst of memories. " _Marigona,"_ she groaned, remembering her first friend after Tom had left, the girl who had taught her Albanian and who she had walked home together after working at the wizarding café…Danielle had never thought she'd see her again, but she would rather their paths have never crossed again rather than encountering her here, dead.

So Tom had to be around somewhere. Danielle had a sneaking suspicion that he had been responsible for Marigona's death, and she had to fight back a wave of nausea as she stared at her wand with new eyes, wondering if it had been the one that had killed her.

She dropped to her knees next to the body and, with shaking hands, reached out and closed Marigona's eyes so that it appeared she was sleeping peacefully, although the terrified expression on her face suggested otherwise. Danielle's teeth were chattering violently, and it wasn't just from the cold, as she turned away from Marigona, unable to look at the remains of her friend anymore. Ophelia was chattering away in her ear, but Danielle ignored her. She twisted around to survey the surrounding area, searching for anything else she'd missed—

—And her breath caught in her throat for the second time in as many minutes as she caught sight of another figure lying motionless on the ground, this one even more familiar. _Tom._ Danielle scrambled over to him, getting her robes even more filthy in the process. She feared the worst as she kneeled over him, grabbing his limp wrist, but there was still a pulse beating steadily under his skin, and instead of being cold to the touch like Marigona's, he was burning hot, as if he had a fever.

"Tom, wake up," Danielle said, although she knew it wouldn't do much good. "Can you hear me?"

He shuddered to life, his eyes opening and wheeling around, not focusing on her. He rolled over onto his side and coughed up a mouthful of blood before slumping back down to the ground again. Danielle's stomach rolled as she realized that his skin and robes were soaked with blood as well. What had he _done?_

Well, there was no use in her sitting there and wondering about it: by the looks of it, he needed a Healer badly. Danielle stuck her wand in her pocket and bent over Tom, grabbing his right shoulder and lifting it over her own before attempting to pull him upright. He appeared to be half-conscious—he didn't collapse from under her, but he didn't show any signs of opening his eyes, either. He leaned heavily against her, and Danielle struggled to support his weight as she staggered toward Marigona, prepared to attempt to lift her as well, when she caught a flash of silver next to the girl that she had previously overlooked.

She'd already guessed what it was even before she had confirmation of the fact, and she wasn't disappointed: Slytherin's locket was lying open next to Marigona's body, half-hidden under a pile of grass. "Ophelia, can you pick up that necklace?" Danielle asked, hoping she would understand, and luckily the Snidget swooped down to the ground, capturing the locket in her tiny beak. She dropped it neatly over Danielle's head, and Danielle had to resist the urge to shudder as the cold metal pressed against her skin. Now she knew what Tom had been doing.

He had tried to create a Horcrux, and it appeared to have failed spectacularly. That, at least ,explained why he had been so cold and distant during the past week—he must have assumed that Danielle would put a stop to it if she had ever guessed. She wasn't sure whether she should be relieved that she finally knew the reason to his new demeanor or furious that he had actually committed murder and attempted to split his soul.

When she reached Marigona, Danielle bent down as far as she could to grab her hand, and trying not to shudder at the rubbery sensation, as if she was a mannequin, slung Marigona's arm over her other shoulder. However, she couldn't support two people for very long, both of whom were taller than her, and Marigona's dead weight (it gave a whole new meaning to that term, Danielle thought bitterly) sagged to the ground. Biting her lip in thought, Danielle finally decided that it wouldn't do any harm to further dirty the girl's already ruined dress, and so settled for holding on tightly to her wrist and dragging Marigona's body behind her. On her other side, she could feel Tom's heart beating steadily against her chest, like it had been transferred to her own.

Ophelia led the way back to the Druri Inn, and the entire time Danielle couldn't help wishing that she had stayed in England with her friends instead.


	16. Crossing the Rubicon

The journey back to the inn felt twice as long and three times as harrowing. Danielle was moving much slower now—her shoulder was beginning to go numb from where Tom was leaning on it, and she kept losing grip of Marigona's hand, her sweat mixing with the blood and filth that was caked over all of them. More than once she wanted to just sink to her knees and disappear into the dirt, forgetting about all the pain and worry and fear and rage she had kept bottled up inside for so long. She wanted to wake Tom up and slap him across the face for killing Marigona and for attempting to make a Horcrux and for making her love him, when he didn't even deserve it.

But if she thought that, did it make her any better than him?

When the trees began to thin out and she could see light from buildings twinkling in the distance, Danielle nearly cried with relief. But instead of giving in to her exhaustion, she forced herself to trudge forward, stopping under the shadow of a grand oak tree and sliding Marigona's body onto the bench that rested beside it. She tried not to think about the fact that this was the bench she had been sitting on when Tom had sent her the Box of Desire, and where Kaltrina had first told her about Ilir, the Dark wizard she had loved.

Danielle unceremoniously dropped Tom down onto the ground next to the bench, mercifully relieved of his weight. She rubbed her aching arm and turned back to them.

"Stay here," she said stupidly, as if either of them would or could conceivably move, and jogged up to the inn, Ophelia taking off from her shoulder and flying back into her room, where the window was still open.

But when Danielle crept inside into the darkness and silence of the inn, she realized she had no idea what to do next. Surely she couldn't let Kaltrina and Brahim know what Tom had done—they would throw both of them out. Danielle wouldn't trust Adelina as far as she could throw a rock, and she had no idea who any of the other guests were. That only left Skender—he'd mentioned at dinner that he would be staying at the inn that night.

Danielle cast a charm to quiet her footsteps as she hurried up the staircase and down the hall to the bedrooms. She knew where Kaltrina and Brahim's room was, where Adelina's room was, and the one next to Adelina's must be Luana's. Three more doors were open, showing empty rooms, and at the very end of the hallway a fourth door stood closed. Was it by some sort of miraculous luck that there were no other guests around? Granted, the inn had never been that popular in the first place, but there was usually at least one other person staying there. But Danielle wasn't going to question this tiny bit of luck, and so she tiptoed over to Skender's door and quietly knocked.

He opened the door almost at once, looking disheveled. His shirt was half-tucked into his trousers, and he wasn't wearing any shoes. He must have been getting ready for bed. "I'm sorry to bother you," Danielle whispered, "But I really need your help!"

He didn't look convinced. "Clara, it is nearly midnight—"

"There is a dead girl outside and Tom _looks_ dead himself. I can't bring him inside by myself, and I don't want Kaltrina and Brahim to know about it!" Danielle's tone had slipped into heavy sarcasm, as it usually did when she was stressed or agitated.

Skender's eyes widened, and he stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him. "Someone's dead?" he asked, as if it was a foreign concept to him.

"Yes—I'll explain everything to you later," Danielle hissed as she led him down the staircase and outside onto the lawn. She heard Skender suck in a sharp breath as he saw Marigona lying on the bench, her arm dangling over the side. He barely spared a glance for Tom as he gently lifted her up into his arms, her hair so long it was nearly touching the ground. "Did _he_ kill her?" he asked, jerking his head at Tom.

Danielle hesitated. "I think so."

" _Djall,"_ Skender muttered, turning away from her. Danielle didn't need a translator to understand what he meant:

_Devil._

"Skender, _please_ ," Danielle begged. She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, with disbelief and a little disgust, as if she was no better than Tom. "Kaltrina can't know that this happened, or else she'll throw us out and we have nowhere else to go. Just—just bring her body back to her family's house two doors down. They don't need to know the specifics."

"So you're willing to hide the evidence of a murder in order to save your reputation?" Skender's voice now had a hard edge to it, a cold edge that she had only heard before when he was speaking to Tom.

Danielle suddenly sagged to the ground, all the fight going out of her. "I don't think our reputations can get much lower," she said very quietly. "Fine, I'll tell Kaltrina what happened as long as you promise not to say anything. I just want to make sure Tom is all right."

For a long moment, Skender didn't move, and Danielle was sure that he was going to refuse. But he finally replied, "I can see that you are truly in love with him. But you have to be willing to sacrifice _yourself_ for that." Without another word, he turned and started across the lawn, his hulking figure blocking out the light still emanating from the inn.

Danielle momentarily forgot about Tom's critical condition as she struggled to comprehend his words. She and Skender had always gotten along well before—so what was the reason for his sudden unfriendliness now? She assumed it had to do with his disgust at Tom's murder of Marigona; and besides, Skender had never completely forgiven Tom for torturing him when he'd believed that Skender was a spy for Grindelwald. He must have seen Tom for what he truly was when he'd looked at Marigona's body, and now he realized how much Danielle had to give up. If she tried to make excuses for him, Skender saw that as a betrayal of the others, even though she was just trying to protect Tom. He would think it came at the expense of everyone else.

 _Perhaps it does,_ Danielle thought, and her stomach rolled.

* * *

Skender still hadn't returned by the time she gathered up enough courage to grab Tom's arm and pull it over her shoulder again. But her muscles were too weak—she could barely walk five paces before she had to stop, her arms screaming in protest. She was almost glad to see Skender arrive back several minutes later, his arms empty again. Without a word, he grabbed Tom's other arm and they hauled him back to the inn, making as little noise as possible.

Navigating the stairs was the hardest task—Danielle always managed to step on the creakiest part, and every noise sounded deafening in the silence. She couldn't meet Skender's eyes; his accusations still stung her as if he had repeated them over and over.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Skender let go of Tom's arm as if it were poisonous, leaving Danielle to push him onto the bed. He was still breathing very shallowly and there was colour in his throat and cheekbones. His hair was tousled and his hands were clenched, as if he was in a great deal of pain. It broke Danielle's heart to see him like that—and then she remembered exactly _why_ he was looking like that, and Skender's harsh words rang in her head. The blood in her veins turned to ice. She slowly pivoted back around to face him, standing in the doorway and glaring at her.

"I'll tell Kaltrina what happened tomorrow," she said quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.

He crossed his arms and frowned at her. "How long have you known that Riddle does things like this?"

"Er…" Danielle faltered, flailing for an answer. "A while?"

"I always knew there was something wrong with him, but I didn't know it was _that bad,"_ Skender replied. His eyes were cold and hard as flint; nothing remained of the warmth and cheer that had radiated from them earlier that evening.

Danielle opened her mouth to explain about the curse, but realized that she couldn't use Vetus Periculosus as an excuse anymore, and besides, even if she _could_ , Skender wouldn't believe her. "Well, he did torture you," she pointed out. "I know you've never liked each other, but—"

"Clara, it's not _entirely_ about him," Skender said sharply. "It's about you. I thought you were better than that. Georgie always said such wonderful things about you. _Zot_ , you saved us from Nurmengard!"

 _Georgina knows far more than you think she does,_ Danielle thought, but wisely held her tongue. "You can't help who you fall in love with."

"But that doesn't mean you have to stay with him," Skender said. "You're a good person. How can you just stand by while he's out committing _murder?_ "

"I didn't know he was—"

"—But you knew he had the potential to do so. Be honest, if I hadn't said anything, would you have even agreed to tell Kaltrina about it?" Some of the disgust had left Skender's eyes, to be replaced with something that was almost like pity. He felt _sorry_ for her.

Danielle swallowed hard. "No," she said in a small voice, not wanting to lie anymore. "I wouldn't have."

Skender made a move toward her as if he wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, and then thought better of it. "I hope you know what you're up against," he said bitterly. "People like _him_ …they have their uses for you and then they dispose of you as soon as they can. But I fear it's too late for you to turn away, Clara. I can see it in your eyes. Either you or him needs to change." With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Danielle mutely sank into the armchair next to the bed, burying her face in her hands. She understood Skender's words better than she cared to admit—it was what she had been pondering ever since she had first realized she was in love with Tom. Could she just stand by while he murdered innocent people? Sooner or later, she would no longer be useful to him. Was it better to flee now, while there were still places she could hide, or stay with him until something gave way?

But what Skender _didn't_ know was that she had unconsciously made her decision months ago. She would stay with Tom, for better or for worse. She would continue to lie for him and turn a blind eye. Perhaps she would get angry at him, but it would be a mere speck in the face of his indifference. Danielle couldn't deny that she was enraged and disgusted that he'd killed Marigona, but it was partly her fault as well—she'd known that he was planning to create a Horcrux, but she'd refused to face the signs and try to prevent him from doing it, instead selfishly withdrawing into herself and sobbing about her _own_ problems. Now he was lying on the bed looking half dead, and she had absolutely no idea what she should do.

Danielle wasn't certain how long she sat there in the dim light, staring at Tom's slumped form. She wanted to take his hand and squeeze it, or place a light kiss on his lips so that he might unconsciously know she was there, but leftover tension and worry from her conversation with Skender kept her from moving. She stared blankly at the wall opposite the bed for so long she wasn't sure when the darkness ceased to be shadows and turned into dreams, dancing and twisting on the walls. She dreamed of shadow figures lifting Tom's body up and dragging him away before turning back to her, their cruel eyes bright red.

* * *

She was mercifully awoken for good by a light knock at the door. Danielle jerked out of the armchair, letting out an involuntary cry at the pain that shot through her muscles after being left in the uncomfortable position for too long.

"Clara?" Kaltrina asked. "Breakfast is ready."

When Danielle didn't answer right away, she knocked again, and this time the door opened a crack. Danielle was just picking herself up off the floor when Kaltrina stuck her head in, a look of worry upon her features. That worry soon turned to confusion when she saw Tom lying on the bed, still in his filthy robes. "What _happened?_ "

"I don't really know," Danielle said truthfully. "I found him like this. I've tried everything—he won't wake up."

Kaltrina hurried over to the bed with the practiced air of someone who had fussed over many sickbeds and pulled her wand out, muttering several spells in Albanian under her breath. When nothing happened, she sighed and placed her hands on her hips, turning back to Danielle. Tom looked much the same as he had the previous night, if slightly more flushed. His breathing had also become more ragged and gasping, as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs.

"It's Dark Magic," she muttered, almost to herself, before turning to Danielle with what she imagined was an accusatory expression on her face.

Not wanting a repeat of what happened with Skender, Danielle reached out to grip the back of the armchair, as if it was the only thing holding her upright. "There was a dead girl with him," she said quickly, as if that would somehow lessen the impact of the words. Kaltrina clapped a hand over her mouth. "But please don't throw us out," she begged, her voice slipping into desperation. "We have nowhere to go, and Tom needs a Healer."

"Oh, Clara," Kaltrina said, reaching out for her. "I would never force you to leave against your will. We do not know what happened with him and the girl. Perhaps she was murdered by an outside force and he was injured."

"Maybe," Danielle said in a small voice.

"You stay here with him, and I'll get fresh robes and call for a Healer," Kaltrina announced. Before she moved to the door, her hand stayed on Danielle's wrist, patting it gently. "You're a good girl for staying with him," she said quietly. "Don't forget that."

Danielle couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't stand to see the pity and compassion in them when she knew she didn't deserve it.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Danielle sat down on the edge of the bed and took Tom's limp hand on both of her own, threading her fingers through his. He didn't so much as move as muscle—he was usually peaceful in sleep, looking younger than he did while awake. Now he looked much _older_ than he usually did, his mouth curved downwards in a grimace. Danielle leaned over and softly kissed his forehead, smoothing out the creases in his eyebrows. She imagined Skender's face, scowling in hatred, and Kaltrina's quietly hopeful expression. Had he been right? Was it time for her to choose her friends or Tom? If he had tried to create a Horcrux (and she knew he had) or, for that matter, killed anyone else, she knew she would have to take a stand. Fletcher, Abraxas and Erik had been fairly easy to overlook: they had all posed threats—it was simpler to justify Tom's actions then. But Marigona was no threat.

When the bedroom door opened again, Danielle, startled, jumped away from Tom, letting go of his hand quickly. But it was only Kaltrina: she smiled encouragingly as she handed Danielle a pile of robes. "I sent for a Healer," she said. "They should be arriving very soon."

"Thank you," Danielle replied fervently; they felt softer to the touch, much different than the scratchy robes she was used to wearing.

The sound of a baby's cry shattered the silence, and she automatically flinched away from it. Kaltrina sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had a headache. "I'm terribly sorry, Clara, but I had better go take care of Luana," she explained. "Adelina is not the best at getting her to stop crying. Can you put the new robes on Tom?"

Danielle nodded, and Kaltrina hurried out, thankfully closing the door behind her so the cries were dulled to a low background noise. She glanced over at Tom to see if it had awoken him, but he was as still as ever. Sighing, Danielle walked over to him, feeling very awkward for undressing an unconscious person, especially since it was Tom. It would be just her luck if he woke up now.

She peeled off his robes as quickly as she could, Vanishing the blood and slime that had dried onto his skin and hair. Danielle frowned when she caught a glimpse of his chest—there was an angry red mark there, just above his heart, but it looked as if it went _into_ the skin, not just a surface cut. She hesitantly reached out to touch it, but Tom suddenly jerked away from her, sucking in a sharp breath but not waking up. Hopefully the Healer would be able to make some sense of it.

Danielle pushed the new robes onto him and stuffed the old ones into the corner of the room. She would have to ask Kaltrina if she could wash them later. At least she had extras in case her current ones didn't fit.

Voices began to float up towards her, and she identified one voice as belonging to Brahim; the second one was unfamiliar. Had the Healer arrived already? Then again, she supposed that it wouldn't take long for them to arrive at the inn from Tirana.

She quickly smoothed down her robes so she could try to hide the blood that was still plainly visible on the material and pinched her cheeks to bring some colour into them just as the door swung open and a balding, middle-aged man stepped into the room. He had an unfriendly face and cold blue eyes that seemed to freeze over when he saw Danielle. "My apologies," he said in a thick Albanian accent. "I did not realize there was someone else in the room."

"It's fine," Danielle replied, lacing her fingers together. "I was just leaving…sir." She moved toward the door, casting a longing look back at Tom as she did, but the Healer stopped her.

"Are you siblings?" he asked.

"I, er, well…" Surely he believed that their names were Ruth and Henry Davies, but he would find it strange if mere siblings were sharing a bed…"Actually, we're married," Danielle admitted. "We eloped to Albania and we're on our honeymoon." Merlin, was this the third time she had used this excuse?

The Healer's eyebrows raised. "Then why aren't either of you wearing rings?"

Danielle decided she didn't like him very much. "We're very poor," she said, and it was at that point she knew that he didn't believe her. Something about his movements and mannerisms seemed very familiar to her, but she couldn't place where.

The Healer's piercing eyes bored into her for another moment before he finally turned over to Tom. Danielle had never been more grateful to escape from an uncomfortable situation in her life.

* * *

Kaltrina was just cleaning up after breakfast when she heard the Healer coming down the stairs. Rushing out of the kitchen at once, she intercepted his path to the front door and inquired, "How is Mr Davies?"

"He has been critically injured by some sort of Dark Magic curse gone wrong. Was he wandering around in the forest?" The Healer didn't look at her as he put his hat back on and adjusted his coattails.

"I don't know," Kaltrina said honestly. "But it seems likely—perhaps he got lost and stumbled upon the wrong thing. You know how dangerous it can be around here."

The Healer looked at her levelly. "Yes," he said. "I do. Now, the boy will be fine—he just needs rest and constant care. Whatever curse he was hit with has weakened his body to the point where he should have been killed. I have never seen anything like it before, but by a stroke of luck he survived. It might take him weeks, even months, to recover. Until then, I would advise that he rests as much as possible until he gradually regains his strength."

Kaltrina nodded. "I will take care of him as much as I can, sir."

The Healer barely managed to suppress a snort as he made his way toward the door. "That would be his wife's job, don't you think?"

Before Kaltrina could respond, he had disappeared. There was something not right about him, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She had called on the magical hospital in and they had assured her that he was one of the most reputable Healers in Tirana.

But it was too late now to call him back and ask for more specific information on Tom's condition, so Kaltrina reluctantly headed upstairs to see how he was doing. The Healer hadn't said anything about him waking up, so she assumed he would still be unconscious for another while.

Her suspicions turned out to be correct—Tom was still lying in the same position she had left him in, but now wearing the pair of comfortable robes she had given Clara. Kaltrina hesitantly sat down in the armchair beside the bed and leaned over Tom, conjuring a cloth from her wand and pouring some water that sat in the jug on the bedside table on it before placing it on Tom's forehead. She didn't expect him to react, but to her bewilderment he did, shuddering away and gasping for air. His breathing came in rattled pants, as if he was in extreme pain and was trying to suppress it. " _Clara_ ," he said, speaking for the first time.

"She's not here," Kaltrina said. "Do you want me to find her?"

Tom's eyes flew open; his pupils were wide and dark, almost swallowing up the brilliant blue of his eyes. His eyes wheeled around, focusing on Kaltrina but not seeing her. "Clara, _please_ ," he said again, and there was an undercurrent to his voice that she had never heard before. Feeling panicked, Kaltrina stood up and hurried out of the room, knowing there was only one person who could help him now.

* * *

After changing out of her robes and having breakfast, Danielle felt much better and more optimistic. She had heard the Healer leave, but hadn't ventured back up into Tom's room again. It was a brilliant autumn day outside—the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue, and birds chirped happily outside the windows, but she barely saw any of it. Should she write a letter to Dumbledore? Surely he would be able to come up with a solution…but Danielle didn't want to bother him any more than she absolutely had to. He had a life after all, she told herself, and she wouldn't want him coming down to Albania and risking suspicions, especially if Holstone was watching his every move. No, Danielle decided. She wouldn't risk it. If Tom's condition changed, or if he got any worse, she would have no choice but to ask him for help. Until then, however…

Her fingers twisted absentmindedly around the locket as she stared out the bay window to the street outside. She had seen several officials from what she presumed were the Albanian equivalent of the Ministry of Magic go in and out of Marigona's house. It seemed as if Skender had done what Danielle had asked him to do, since nobody had shown up to the inn demanding to know what had happened. Speaking of Skender, Brahim had told her that he had left to go back home early that morning, which brought Danielle more relief than it should have.

There was a sudden flurry of footsteps outside the room and Danielle turned to see Kaltrina rushing in, a look of concern upon her lined face. "Clara, Tom is asking for you."

"For _me?_ " Danielle repeated, unsure if she had heard correctly. They had barely interacted since their kiss at MacDougal Manor—why would Tom want to talk to _her?_

"Well, he's not _entirely_ awake—I think you should come see him." Kaltrina seemed flustered, not at all like her usual self. Dropping the locket, where it thudded back to her throat, Danielle rushed upstairs to her bedroom, where Tom was now tossing and turning on the bed. His eyes were open, but there was a wildness to them she'd never seen before, not even when he was in the throes of the curse. Danielle hesitantly sat down beside him and tried to feel his forehead, but she shoved her hand away, gripping onto her wrist with surprising strength. When he'd been at his worst during the curse, he'd been too pale and his skin had been cold to the touch. Now he was the opposite—his cheeks were flushed with colour and he was burning, as if he had a high fever. Someone had placed a cold cloth on his forehead, but it didn't seem to be helping.

"Kaltrina said you were saying my name," she said, keeping her voice as level and unthreatening as possible. "Do you even know I'm here?"

Tom's eyes suddenly cleared, as if a switch had been turned on behind them. He blinked once with an obvious effort, and then seemed to snap to attention. "Of course I know you are here," he said; the air of superiority had returned to his voice. "I am not an invalid."

 _Oh, really?_ Danielle thought, but she managed to refrain herself from saying it aloud. "Why did you ask for me, then?"

Tom straightened up and narrowed his eyes at her. His hair was dripping with sweat and the flush hadn't left his cheekbones. Even ill, he was still dangerously beautiful. "I did not ask for you."

"But Kaltrina said—"

"It was unintentional," he replied sharply, cutting her off. "And I think the question that _you_ should be answering first is how exactly I got back here."

Danielle nearly got up and walked right out of the room; she was in no mood to deal with his brooding just then. But it was better the truth come from her than a lie from Kaltrina, so she explained about Ophelia's insistence to follow her into the forest and her discovery of him and Marigona's body, all the way up to Skender's accusation and the Healer's visit. Tom looked coldly annoyed, although not surprised, when she mentioned that Skender had forced her to tell Kaltrina about Marigona.

"He is not to be trusted, Clara," he said right away. His face was, if possible, even more flushed than it had been while he was unconscious.

"And you are?" Danielle shot back. "Don't lie to me, Tom. I know that you were trying to make a Horcrux and it didn't work for some reason. I know you killed Marigona."

"Do you?" he asked quietly. "And what did the Healer say about me?"

"That you were cursed with some sort of Dark Magic and it would take a long time for you to properly heal," Danielle said. "But that doesn't matter—I know you'll be back on your feet within a few days anyway. I'm more concerned about the fact that you're going to try to make a Horcrux again—"

"Because you are afraid you will not love me anymore if I do?" Tom said. His response was so startling that Danielle's eyes widened, taken aback.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she spluttered. "We were talking about the fact that you want to split your bloody _soul_ —"

"Would you be so averse to the idea if it had not been your friend that was killed?" Tom interrupted, asking his fourth question in a row, rhetorical though it was. "That was her _job_ , Clara. She _volunteered._ She knew there was a risk factor in taking it."

"I don't care if she bloody begged you to kill her on her knees! The look on her face suggested otherwise, however—"

Now it was Tom's turn to reach out and grab her wrists, pinning them between both of his hands so she couldn't stand up. "Calm down," he said harshly. "We will see, Clara. If you were truly in love with me, nothing I do will change your opinion of me."

"So is this all some ploy to see if you can manipulate me into feeling what you want?" Danielle demanded. "I don't want to have to continue to rescue you like you're some damsel in distress. I had to carry your body back to the inn and then endure Skender's taunts and Kaltrina's pity! I don't want that. I don't want you to nearly kill yourself with some endeavour that will only drag you farther away from me."

" _Ah,_ " Tom said, his eyes glittering with a new light. "There you have it, Clara. You do not want me to make a Horcrux because you are afraid that _I_ will not feel the same way about _you_. That is a very…selfish thing to consider. A very Slytherin trait."

"You barely feel anything for me _now!"_ Danielle nearly shouted, frustrated and exasperated.

"I was not aware you could perform such advanced Legilimency as to see right into my mind," Tom said dismissively. "You believe I do not love you because I have never said the words, but have you ever considered the fact that I have never denied it, either?"

For once, Danielle had no idea how to answer him. She just stared down at his still-flushed face, unsure whether to pull away or stay still. But Tom soon made that decision for her: he pulled her down to him, still holding her wrists, and kissed her with a fierce longing she hadn't felt in months. And despite her anger at him, despite her confusion and loneliness and _hurt,_ Danielle kissed him back, her mouth molding into his as if it hadn't been months since they'd kissed like this. His lips were hot against hers, his touch burning, but she only threw herself deeper into the embrace, rolling over onto her side so that he could grab her waist and run his hands up her body to tangle them into her hair. Tom's heart was hammering against her chest, and Danielle wanted to ask about the strange mark she had seen on his skin, but a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this was not the correct time to ask.

Their breathing was coming faster now, their kisses becoming more urgent. Tom was burning with fever, a wild look in his eyes—but he was more uninhibited than Danielle had ever seen him, and she wasn't about to let this opportunity slip away. But did she really want to take advantage of him like this, knowing that he wasn't in control of himself? Did that really even count for anything?

Besides, she was supposed to be furious at him. She was supposed to want to slap him and scream at him until her throat was hoarse from yelling. She wasn't supposed to be kissing him like her life depended on it and she sure wasn't supposed to be _enjoying_ it so much. He had just killed one of her friends and attempted to create a Horcrux, for Merlin's sake!

With a great effort, Danielle broke away from him, placing her hands on each side of his face and holding him at arm's length. "Stop," she told him, and her stomach jumped when she saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. "I can't do this."

"You can't?" Tom repeated, and again, Danielle's heart soared at the contraction. Funny, how such a small thing could make her so pleased. "You seemed to be having no trouble—"

"You're ill," she told him, trying not to concentrate on the warmth of his body against hers seeping into her clothes. "You're not thinking properly. Besides, do you think I could ever forgive myself if we slept together twelve hours after you attempted the Darkest piece of magic I can think of?"

Tom suddenly looked disgusted; he pushed away from her so that she could sit up and jump right off the bed, not trusting herself to be too close to him. "It is your fault I am like this, Clara," he said; the flush had crept down into his throat and his eyes were heavy-lidded. "It did not work properly because of _you_. If I had not thought of you just before I said the incantation—"

"How is _you_ thinking of _me_ my fault?" Danielle demanded. "Anyway, that's what you get for trying to create a Horcrux—"

"In your timeline, what were the Horcruxes I used?" Tom asked. When Danielle's eyes widened, he added, " _Voldemort's_ Horcruxes. What were they?"

She swallowed hard, but could see no way of skirting the question, so in a small voice she answered, "Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, the snake Nagini, a diary, the diadem, a ring, and the unintended one was Harry Potter." Tom opened his mouth, and before he could say something like 'I should have gotten the cup' Danielle asked, "What _did_ you do with the diary I gave you, anyway?"

"I still have it," Tom said, a smirk playing at his lips. "It is rather ironic that the gift you gave me eventually became a Horcrux, is it not?"

"But it doesn't _have_ to be," Danielle said hurriedly. "Not now, anyway. Things are different now. You don't have to become a Dark wizard."

"I wish to become immortal," said Tom. "That is not going to change."

"Then what about me?" Danielle whispered.

He didn't answer.

There was another beat of silence before a knock at the door sent Danielle jumping up. "Clara? Are you in there?" Kaltrina asked.

"Yes," Danielle answered, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. The door opened a moment later, and, before she could do anything, a jet of bright red light shot at Tom, knocking him back onto the pillows where he lay unconscious.

She turned with a shout to Kaltrina, who had her wand out and was looking grim. "I am terribly sorry about that," she said. "But it was necessary. If he wears out his body too much, he will only become worse."

Danielle looked on in shock as Kaltrina walked around the side of the bed and observed Tom's slumped form. "The Healer must have given him an Inhibition Potion," she said, nodding at the bedside table. For the first time, Danielle noticed an empty cup next to the jug of water. "That is why he was calling out for you and, I think, why he might have acted differently toward you just now."

Danielle thought of his flushed face, and his earnestness during their kiss. "So it made him do things he would not have otherwise done?" she asked, trying to ignore the disappointment that surged through her.

"Yes, but he was also doing and saying things he might have _wanted_ to do and say but that he would not attempt to normally," Kaltrina explained, and smiled at Danielle's surprised look. "Now come, Clara. I wish to speak to you."

Casting one last look back at Tom, Danielle followed her out of the room and into one of the empty guest rooms. Kaltrina hobbled over to the bed and sat down on it, Danielle leaning against the door in bemusement. "What is it?" she asked when Kaltrina didn't begin right away.

"Tom tried to make a Horcrux, didn't he?" the old woman finally asked. Danielle's sharp intake of breath seemed to be all the answer she needed, for she nodded mournfully and then went on, "That is what Ilir tried to do as well."

Now it was Danielle's turn to pause before she asked, "He did?"

"He attempted it days after I told him that I was going to choose Brahim instead," Kaltrina said quietly. "And did I ever tell you how Ilir's story ended, Clara?"

Danielle shook her head, not wanting to speak.

"He died. The process killed him, and I have spent my entire life trying to keep it a secret. But now I see that Tom is much stronger than Ilir was. It did not kill him. I do not need you to tell me that the poor soul he sacrificed was Marigona." Kaltrina turned away from Danielle, to the window, and Danielle was reminded of her staring into the Box of Desire. "I don't know the path you are planning to take, Clara. But all I can say to you is that it is going to be a very difficult one."


	17. The Deathly Hallows

As the weeks slowly passed, with no Ministry personnel storming into the inn and demanding that they return to England, with no correspondence from Dumbledore saying that they needed to run (although Danielle wasn't sure that _not_ hearing from him was a good thing) it could be forgiven that she was beginning to feel slightly hopeful. The days were, for the most part, very uneventful, and Danielle couldn't remember a time when she had spent the majority of her time sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Back home, it was sure to be freezing, rainy, and miserable, while barely two flakes of snow fell on the ground in Tirana. She could go outside without a coat in the middle of October, which, to her, was a very strange sensation.

Neither Danielle nor Tom had mentioned Horcruxes again: indeed, the subject had been carefully skirted. She wasn't sure if this was a conscious or unconscious decision on both of their parts. She knew that not talking about it wouldn't deter Tom in the least from whatever he was planning to do anyway, and he in turn knew that she disapproved of it. At any rate, it would take him a while before he fully recovered and was able to attempt to perform powerful magic again.

As Danielle had predicted, he was on his feet again within a day, and was acting like his normal self within the week. At first, their interactions were awkward: they avoided each other and would only speak in short, clipped tones when absolutely necessary. But after this had been going on for three weeks, things had finally caved—Danielle wasn't sure whose decision it had been, or if it had been simultaneous—they found themselves kissing fervently in the hallway, and that night, before she'd fallen asleep, she had stared over at Tom lying next to her and wondered how, exactly, it had come to this.

More than once she'd considered writing to her friends, but although Alistair was fully recovered, she chose not to risk it in case he was intercepted again. She wouldn't put her poor owl through that, and besides, she wasn't even certain if he would be able to make the long journey from Albania to England. Danielle just had to hope that they knew she and Tom were all right…more or less. It had been months, and she was beginning to wonder if their names would ever be cleared. If Dumbledore couldn't do anything, then she was sure that no one could. Whenever there was a guest from Britain, she would always flinch away from them and when Kaltrina would introduce her as "Ruth Davies", Danielle would blush and hope that the guest hadn't recognized her, but fortunately they never did.

A week after they'd first arrived in Albania, Marigona's funeral was held at a local church. Kaltrina, Adelina and Brahim had attended, but Danielle had refused, the guilt churning away at her insides. She wouldn't be able to bear seeing her friend's lifeless body again and knowing that she could have done something to stop it. But still, Tom's words that she had _chosen_ that life twisted around in her mind. What had happened to Marigona in order for her to cease being the happy, bubbly girl that Danielle had known, working a perfectly innocent job in a wizarding café, and become a prostitute working at a brothel where those practicing Dark Magic often frequented? Danielle supposed it was the fact that it was very difficult to find a job anywhere else, and Marigona and Adelina were both very beautiful. Perhaps the job paid very well—she had no idea.

Adelina, it turned out, still _did_ work at the brothel, although Tom had insisted that she wasn't there the night he had met whom he'd referred to as the "hooded stranger" and tried to create a Horcrux. "Of course you didn't!" Danielle had exclaimed, exasperated. "She was at dinner with us." Tom had suggested that Adelina knew more than they did about who the stranger was, but even when he had charmed her into telling him exactly what she did with customers (the knowledge turned Danielle's stomach) she had had no idea who he was, even when Tom had used Legilimency on her. This led them to believe that he had just shown up the night Tom had arrived there, and had known who Tom was and what would coerce him into making a Horcrux.

"I think he'd known you weren't ready," Danielle told him thoughtfully one day in October. She was sitting on the bed while Tom angrily paced around the room. "That's why he in turn tried to manipulate you." She couldn't help but grin. "It's a bit of an irritating feeling, isn't it?"

Tom had glared through hooded eyes at her, but she hadn't backed down. It was about time that he got a taste of his own medicine, she figured, and privately respected the stranger for being able to do that, although of course she loathed him for what he had tried to make Tom do.

October slowly bled into wet, rainy November, and Danielle was beginning to lament over the fact they'd been in Albania for nearly two months and they'd still got no closer to finding any answers. They were still fugitives, she hadn't managed to dissuade Tom from creating a Horcrux at all—she supposed it was only a matter of time before he tried again—and she had no idea why Holstone would even believe she was a time-traveler, which worried her most of all. How had he gotten that information? Had someone told him? Danielle shuddered at the thought of Georgina telling him everything, but at the same time she knew that Georgina wouldn't be able to tell him about Danielle without telling him about _herself_ in turn. The only people who knew aside from Georgina were Dumbledore (who was obviously not the culprit) and Tom. The only other explanation Danielle could think of was that Holstone had used Legilimency on her once without her knowledge and found out the answers, which greatly unsettled her.

But there was nothing else to do but wait: wait for Dumbledore to clear their names, wait for winter to arrive, wait for Tom to finally crack and try to create another Horcrux, wait for Kaltrina to throw them out after she'd realized the extent Tom would go to trying to create said Horcrux…Danielle was used to action, to proactively trying to combat a problem head-on, that this new type of strategy was foreign to her, and one she didn't like. So she tried to keep herself as busy as possible, cleaning the inn and doing errands, trying to keep her mind off the disturbing thoughts that would surely await her if she had too much time to think.

One of these tasks was reading to Adelina's daughter, Luana, before she went to bed every night. Since Adelina often worked during the evenings and into the early mornings, Luana had no one to put her to bed since Kaltrina and Brahim, being as old as they were, usually retired sometime after dinner; this only left Danielle, who rather enjoyed the mind-numbing monotony of sitting at the toddler's bedside and reading nonsense stories to her, usually falling asleep even before Danielle finished the first page.

Danielle had never particularly been fond of children, and was generally indifferent to them one way or another. But she had to admit there was something endearing about Luana: when she smiled at Danielle or clapped her chubby little hands after she showed her a magic trick, she felt a sense of keen longing, as if she knew exactly what she was missing out on. Tom, of course, would have no idea of how Danielle felt, since he'd grown up in an orphanage surrounded by children and had probably learned how to tune them out years ago. But there were times when Danielle cradled Luana in her arms or conjured bubbles for her out of the tip of her wand and thought _if only…_

One night in late November, as a late autumn storm howled outside and rain lashed the windows of the inn, Danielle picked out an appropriately chilling story from Luana's bookshelf, grabbing _The Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ and flipping it open to _The_ _Tale of the Three Brothers_ , one of her own favourite stories as a child. The gloomy and slightly grisly scenes of some of the other tales were, Danielle thought, too mature for a two-year-old, and although the _Brothers'_ tale wasn't the most cheerful of stories, it was certainly less likely to give Luana nightmares than _The Warlock's Hairy Heart._

When she'd gotten the toddler all settled in bed and staring up at her smiling expectantly, Danielle sat on the edge of Luana's bed and began to read, not even noticing the bedroom door creak open behind her.

"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water." _If only all of life's problems were as easy to solve as that,_ Danielle thought dryly.

"They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for being clever enough to evade them.

"So, the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother." _Exactly the sort of wand that Tom would like._

"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead." _I could see my family again._

"And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility." _Like the cloak Dumbledore lent me?_

"Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination."

"The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, he sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

"That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own.

"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him.

"Yet she was silent and cold, separated from him as though by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. And Death took the second brother for his own.

"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."

Danielle silently closed the book when she had finished reading, assuming Luana had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the story, but the little girl was still sitting up, her face scrunched into concentration. "Is it real?" she asked in her garbled Albanian accent.

Smiling sadly, Danielle shook her head. "It's just a story," she said softly. "But it would be nice if it were true, wouldn't it?" She leaned over to ruffle Luana's hair before standing up, stifling a scream when she saw Tom standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in the loudest whisper she could muster, shutting the door quietly behind her and hoping that Luana would quickly fall asleep.

"The story you were telling sounded rather… _interesting_ ," he replied as they went into their bedroom, Danielle refusing to look at him as she fed Alistair his supper. "Did it not?"

"It's just a story," Danielle said shortly, throwing a handful of pellets into the owl cage and turning around to face him. "Everyone knows they're just nursery stories. My mum used to read them to me when I was little— _oh_ ," she said quietly, understanding. "You've never heard it before, haven't you?"

Tom shook his head, looking preoccupied. "There might be truth to it, Clara. Such objects may exist—"

"Hang on," Danielle said, glaring at him. "You just want the Elder Wand, don't you? Now that you don't have a wand, the thought of possessing the most powerful wand in existence is obviously appealing to you. Well, even if they _did_ exist, it would be nearly impossible to find them—"

"You had the Cloak, Clara," Tom reminded her, his voice quiet in the wake of Danielle's raised one. "In fifth year, you used it to sneak into my compartment on the train. I did not think much of it at the time, but in hindsight I should have realized it was crucial."

Danielle's mouth fell open. "You mean you knew I was there?" And all this time she had been congratulating herself on getting something past him.

"Of course I knew," Tom said dismissively. "Did you think you could fool me? The point is, Clara, if I become Master of Death, I would have power beyond anybody's imaginings. Tell me: _do the Deathly Hallows actually exist?_ "

She prepared to lie, but she knew she couldn't—not to him, not anymore. "Yes," she admitted, shamefaced. "They do."

* * *

When Dumbledore had lent her the Invisibility Cloak in fifth year, Danielle had realized that the rumours that circulated in her time had been true, that the Deathly Hallows _did_ exist. There were whispers, urban legends that Harry Potter had become the Master of Death after Voldemort had been defeated. Danielle had never paid much attention to the legends, at least not until she had seen the Invisibility Cloak and put two and two together. But she'd had no desire to find the Elder Wand or the Resurrection Stone—she had more important things on her mind then. Now that she considered it, though, she had to admit that it would be very tempting to speak to her family again, to apologize to them and beg for their forgiveness…

Tom spent much of his time in the wizarding library in Tirana the following week. Danielle didn't follow him inside—she knew that his search would yield next to no results. The entire _point_ of the Deathly Hallows was that they had been lost, and she had no idea how Harry Potter would have ended up with them. Normally, she would have just been glad that Tom was finally taking his attention off Horcruxes—that is, if he hadn't known exactly where one of them was.

"Write to Dumbledore and ask him how he obtained the Cloak of Invisibility," Tom instructed her, visibly frustrated. Danielle was sprawled on the bed, reading a beginner's guide to Albanian and pretending he wasn't in the room. Sighing, she rolled onto her back and stared up at him, raising her eyebrows.

"I won't," she said mulishly. "Dumbledore has enough problems without me asking him how much he knows about the Deathly Hallows. Besides, what do you _really_ need with the Cloak and the Stone anyway? It's not like you can't use a Disillusionment Charm instead, and I can't think of anybody you'd want to call back from the dead. You already _know_ you're one of the most powerful wizards in the world, so why do you want the Elder Wand? I'm sure there are plenty of wand shops in Tirana—"

" _Clara_ ," Tom said in his long-suffering tone. "If you do not write to Dumbledore, then I will."

Danielle couldn't hide her grin. "Good luck getting him to tell _you_ anything," she laughed. "I'm your only hope, and you know it."

Tom couldn't argue with that: he glared at her for another moment before simply turning around and walking out of the room. Danielle went around feeling jubilant for the rest of the day; he was at her mercy, and he knew it.

That night she waited until after she'd put Luana to bed before striding into their bedroom and announcing, "I'll write to Dumbledore, Tom, but under one condition."

He turned slowly around, suspicion etched into every line of his face. "What?"

"That you promise me you will never attempt to make a Horcrux again." Danielle paused. "With the Unbreakable Vow."

Anger flashed across Tom's face: she could almost see him weighing the pros and cons in his mind. Hallows or Horcruxes? He would, technically, become Master of Death either way. But as Danielle watched him think, she realized, with dismay, that there had been a loophole in her ultimatum: if he made a Horcrux first, the Unbreakable Vow wouldn't hold because he couldn't be killed. Then he would be free to search for the Hallows all he wanted.

She expected him to jump right to that line of logic: but, to Danielle's astonishment, he actually looked like he was _considering_ it. When he met her eyes again, his gaze was steady. "I cannot promise you that, Clara," he said firmly.

She was silent for a long moment: for once, he had been honest with her. "Then what will you promise me?" she asked slowly.

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly; he was evidently dissatisfied with the way the conversation was going. "What do you want?"

Danielle racked her brains for the most daring, most outrageous idea she could think of. She was curious to see how desperate he really was, the lengths he would go to obtain information about the Deathly Hallows. She could ask him to tell her that he loved her, but that was the sort of thing she wanted him to say on his own, not because she had forced him to.

And then it hit her: the most audacious thing she could possibly ask him. Half-laughing, knowing he would never agree to it, she said, "Marry me."

The words shocked her just as much as they did Tom; he gave a startled jerk and his blue eyes widened, as if trying to ascertain whether she was serious or not. They stared at each other for a long moment across the room, and just as she was about to tell him that she didn't really mean it, that she was just joking, but before she could even get a word out he said "Yes."

Danielle stopped short, staring at him open mouthed. "I didn't mean—I was just— _what?_ "

"Think about it, Clara," Tom said. "It would be beneficial for us both. We would no longer have to use pseudonyms, and it would appear less suspicious. Dumbledore might even believe I have… _reformed._ It would change nothing, of course, but on a purely superficial level—"

"Tom," Danielle choked. "I didn't really mean that...I just wanted to see if you would agree to it." _And you did._

His expression didn't change. "I knew you were not intending to follow through on it. You would not marry a man who would refuse to say that he was in love with you."

This shocked Danielle even more than his agreeing to their marriage. "Refuse to say it?" she echoed. _So does that mean he_ does _love me? Why wouldn't he say 'marry a man who was not in love with you'?_

"As it turns out, Clara, I do not need Dumbledore after all," Tom continued, ignoring her question.

"Well, then, why did you even ask me—"

Again, her question went unanswered. "I believe I know who possesses the Elder Wand."

Danielle didn't speak this time; her head spinning, she simply stared at him and waited for a response. Luckily, it came soon enough.

"Grindelwald."


	18. Broken Soul

Once Tom got an idea into his head, Danielle thought angrily, it was impossible to rid him of it. She ignored the voice in her head telling her that _she_ was exactly the same way, and instead demanded, "How do you know he last had the Elder Wand?"

"According to the books I have been studying, its last documented owner was a wandmaker named Gregorovitch," Tom replied. "When Gregorovitch arrived at his shop one morning several decades ago, he claims that a blond-haired boy cast a Stunning Spell on him and ran away with the wand. There have also been rumours circulating that Grindelwald owns the Elder Wand, which certainly fits with Gregorovitch's description of him. Therefore, when Dumbledore defeated him last June, the wand should have changed possession."

"So then Dumbledore must have it," Danielle mused. "But that should make you want to speak to Dumbledore even _more_ , if he has two of the Hallows. Why are you still on about Grindelwald, then?"

"When you said that Dumbledore would not tell me anything, I was reminded of the hooded stranger in the brothel— _he_ had the Elder Wand, but I just thought it was an unusual wand at the time. And Grindelwald was using an ordinary wand when he dueled with Dumbledore. I would remember if he had a wand that looked so strange."

"Oh," said Danielle, trying to process this new information. "So is that why Grindelwald was defeated so quickly? I always thought there was something strange about how quickly Dumbledore won."

"Perhaps," Tom agreed. "Since the wand was obtained before his duel with Dumbledore, it is logical to assume that Grindelwald knows where it is, and how the stranger acquired it. Once I know who he is, I might finally understand how he knew so much about me and my intentions."

"So," Danielle began, pointing an accusing finger at him, "You want to go to Nurmengard _again_ and speak to the Darkest wizard of all time? We barely escaped it once—"

"It is our only chance, Clara," Tom said plaintively. He turned away from her and gazed out the window, although Danielle was sure he wasn't seeing anything. "I can see already that you have already chosen not to go. That is fine—I am confident I will be able to do this alone. After all," he smirked, "I daresay you shall be busy planning for our wedding."

"There isn't going to be a wedding!" Danielle said furiously. "We're not engaged! That was a joke, Tom, whether you agreed to it or not!"

"Under these circumstances," he replied. "What if _I_ had gotten down on one knee and proposed to _you?_ You would have accepted instantaneously. Do not lie to yourself."

Danielle spluttered angrily, but she couldn't form an appropriate response, since, infuriatingly, she knew that he was right. "Well, I _am_ going with you to see Grindelwald," she said. "I'm not going to let you go back to Nurmengard alone."

Tom looked coldly satisfied at having been proven right. "Fine," he answered. "I should have known that you would follow me anywhere."

She ignored this jibe, deciding to ask a pressing question on her mind that was, for now, more important than the Deathly Hallows. "When you said that you'd marry me," she asked hesitantly, "Did you really mean it?"

He regarded her with the coolly blank stare she had come to know so well, and her only answer was the widening of his smirk.

* * *

As it turned out, the point in time where everything changed for good wasn't Tom's decision after all. If she was honest with herself, Danielle had to admit that neither of them had seen this one coming. There was no way she could have prepared for it…and there was, she realized in retrospect, only one way it could have ended.

It was the following week, and she still wasn't sure when Tom was planning on going to Nurmengard. She steeled herself to leave at any moment, ready to bid Kaltrina and Brahim goodbye at a moment's notice. Tom was still poring over his research, searching for cracks in Nurmengard's armour, trying to figure out the best way to get inside. Danielle suspected that simply walking through the doors and Stunning the guards would not be enough this time. She trusted Tom to find the safest way of sneaking in, since she knew that he had nothing to lose by speaking to Grindelwald. He would discover something—after all, he was, she had to admit, the most brilliant wizard of his time aside from Dumbledore.

She was playing with Luana in the drawing-room after breakfast, waiting for Adelina to show up and bring her to daycare where she spent the majority of the day, but Adelina hadn't come downstairs yet. This was odd, as usually she couldn't wait to snatch Luana from Danielle's arms and glare at her, as if Danielle was liable to drop her or otherwise harm her at any moment. But, Danielle, giving her the benefit of the doubt, had decided to let her sleep in instead of waking her up.

"Clara?" Kaltrina's voice came floating in from the kitchen, and Danielle glanced up from where Luana was playing with a stuffed dragon that roared every time she grabbed it. "Have you seen Adelina today?"

"No," Danielle called back. "I'm waiting for her to take Luana. Did she come home last—" But she didn't get to finish her sentence, for at that moment there was a deafening bang that echoed throughout the entire inn, shaking the very ground under her feet. She grabbed Luana and pulled her onto her lap as the door burst open and three wizards wearing green uniforms pointed their wands directly at her. Luana screamed piercingly in fright and began to sob, burying her face in Danielle's robes as if she could become invisible.

"Drop the baby and hand over your wand," one of them ordered. Danielle stared wide-eyed at them: they were obviously British Ministry of Magic employees. How had they discovered where she was staying?

"I…I don't have it," she stuttered, holding up her hands in an expression of surrender. "Please don't hurt me—I can explain—"

"Luana!" she heard Kaltrina cry, and a second later the old woman came rushing in, heedless of the three wands pointed at Danielle, and scooped up the bawling child, whose ear-splitting shrieks had been even louder than the initial crash.

"Come with us willingly, and no one will be hurt," one of the men promised. Slowly, Danielle got to her feet, her hands still raised. She was trapped: they had found her, and there was no escape.

Just as she took a step toward them, a jet of green light soared over her head, knocking into the picture window and sending glass shattering everywhere. Danielle dove out of the way as one of the men retaliated with a Stunning Spell, the light shooting inches past her face. Unfortunately, she landed hard on the broken glass, and let out a cry of pain as she landed on her hands and knees, shards embedding themselves into her skin.

The drawing room, so peaceful moments before, had turned into chaos. The three Ministry employees were sending spell after spell at Tom, who had appeared behind Danielle and was dueling all of them at once with her wand. Through the haze of shock and pain, she noted with relief that Kaltrina and Luana had managed to escape.

"You cannot win, Riddle!" one of the men called, dodging a Killing Curse that Tom had sent his way. "You'll tire after a while, and then spend the rest of your sorry life in Azkaban."

"Clara, _leave_ ," Tom said through his teeth, without looking over at Danielle.

"No—" she began, but with a snarl he repeated, " _Leave!"_

Clumsily getting to her feet, Danielle prepared to leap out the broken window, but one of the men had spotted her and he sent a Killing Curse of his own shooting toward her. Danielle, not reacting fast enough, stared at the light blankly, unable to process what had happened—

And then Tom was in front of her, an expression of uncontrolled rage on his face as he sent the curse rebounding back at the man, who collapsed to the ground, killed by his own spell. Bleeding, confused, and disoriented, Danielle numbly turned and made to run, but she stupidly stepped right in the path of one of the Stunning Spells flying around the room. This time Tom wasn't fast enough to save her, and his face was the last thing she saw before she fainted.

* * *

As soon as Danielle fell, Tom cast a protective spell so that the men couldn't harm her, and proceeded to duel even more fiercely, successfully Stunning the second man and leaving only one left as they circled around the room, dodging and repelling each other's spells.

"Who told you we were here?" Tom demanded; the other man had ceased trying to Disarm Tom and had gone straight for the Killing Curse—something that a normal Ministry employee would never do.

"You ought to be more careful who you're befriending," the man chuckled, laughing even as the Cruciatus Curse brushed mere inches from his shoulder. "The Minister ordered us down here as soon as he heard the news earlier today. I'll be promoted, I will."

In Tom's anger and frustration, a powerful gust of uncontrolled magic burst from Clara's wand and enveloped the man, and he fell backwards with a scream of agony, hitting the wall and falling to the ground, his eyes rolling backward into his head.

Tom strode forward and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up roughly so that he started to choke, his lips turning blue. " _Who told you?_ " he demanded, and the man screamed again, thrashing about wildly. But Tom's grip didn't loosen, and after a moment he gasped, "I don't know her name! The red-haired one—she lives here!"

In disgust, Tom let go of him, and he crashed to the ground again, unconscious. _That red-haired girl._ Adelina. She had betrayed him— _them_.

Without looking over at Clara, he strode out of the room and up the stairs to where he knew Adelina would be hiding. Luckily for them, no one crossed his path on the way or they would have been dead before they even had a chance to register what was happening.

Her door was locked, but Tom blasted it open without any effort at all and pointed Clara's wand at her. Instead of trying to escape, the stupid girl had barricaded herself in her bedroom and was hiding in her closet, shaking with fear. When she saw Tom, she screamed and grabbed her wand, but he Disarmed her instantly. Like he had done with the Ministry guard, he went over to her and pinned her against the wall, his hands gripping into her shoulders. Her green eyes widened in terror as Tom bore down on her. His eyes weren't red as they would have been if he was still burdened with Vetus Periculosus, but the sight was absolutely horrifying all the same. His face twisted inhumanely as he spat, " _Why did you tell the Ministry where we are?"_

"I—I didn't intend to—"

" _Answer me!"_

Adelina whimpered, and she managed to choke out, "I don't know who he was! I was working last night and this man in a long cloak—I couldn't see his face—used the Imperius Curse on me! He forced me to contact the Ministry and tell them that I knew where Tom Riddle and Clara Ashford were staying. When I realized what I had d—done I ran up here and hid so you wouldn't find me, but I can't leave Luana! Please—" she gasped, clutching at her throat as Tom released her. Anger was surging through him like blood, clouding every other emotion. The hooded stranger, the one with the Elder Wand, had forced Adelina to reveal their whereabouts.

Tom was momentarily distracted, and Adelina took this rare opportunity to lunge for her wand, and screamed the only curse she could think of at him: " _Avada Kedavra!"_

He whirled around and saw the green light flying toward him: heard a peculiar rushing sound, as if he was at the end of a long tunnel. Tom's instincts, razor-sharp from years of bullying and taunts at the orphanage, kicked in and he dove aside the Muggle way—it was as if he was ten years old again and hiding from Eric Whalley's punches and kicks at the dinner table. It made him feel weak, powerless. And if there was one thing Tom couldn't stand, it was being vulnerable. Clara was the only person he could allow himself respite from the façade he had carefully built up his entire life.

Adelina was standing over him, looking triumphant. And Tom knew he had nearly lost. He could see death, the blackness of oblivion, stretching out before him. He had never been this close to it; not even when he had failed creating a Horcrux. It had been so close that he almost half believed he was dead himself.

In that instant, Tom realized that there was only one option. His life could have been over in seconds, before he'd even known that he had been killed. He had been near death before, but he had never fully accepted just how close he'd been to ceasing to exist.

While Adelina stared down at him, most likely gathering up her courage to cast another Killing Curse, Tom reacted so fast that she didn't even have time to raise her wand. Within seconds, she was thrown against the wall again, her wand clattering to the ground. He could have tortured her and made her truly pay for what she had tried to do, but he was merciful. " _Avada Kedavra!"_ Tom hissed, and he watched in satisfaction as she fell, with no time to process that she was going to die. Just as she had nearly done to him.

He reached up and pulled Slytherin's locket from where it hung around his neck—he wore it constantly now—and placed it on Adelina's body. His hands didn't tremble at all now—he was still surging with fury and wrath. This time, he didn't think of Clara, or Hogwarts, or the hooded figure's sneer as he said, " _Erratus Anima."_

There was pain, this time, but it was a fraction of what it had been in the forest. Still, it was enough to bring him to his knees: he fell to the floor, a ragged gasp escaping from his mouth. Tom's fingers dug into the carpet, his entire body clenching and then unclenching, as he began to cough.

He sensed rather than felt something break inside him as he gagged, hearing his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Over the wracking coughs, he could feel a peculiar sensation rushing through his veins: it hissed and fizzed like electricity, as if his very bones were alive, reaching through every part of him.

And then, with a great effort, he vomited onto the floor—but it was not blood this time—it was a dark substance, seeming intangible yet as corporeal as his own body. Tom stared at it, uncomprehending, for a moment before the buzzing abruptly stopped and he collapsed to the ground, uncharacteristically dizzy.

He wasn't sure how long he was lying there—a minute? An hour?—before he finally rolled over, opening his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. The viscous dark substance he had coughed up was gone, but the locket on Adelina's side was closed instead of open.

Tom took a step towards her and lifted it up, dangling the closed locket in front of him. So he had done it. He had created a Horcrux. He was immortal.

Whenever he'd dreamt of this moment, he had expected to feel jubilant. He had expected to feel invincible, untouchable, as if he was the most powerful wizard to ever have existed.

But he felt nothing. He didn't even feel relieved.

Tom closed his fingers over Slytherin's locket—no, _his_ locket now—and left the room without a backward glance at Adelina, wondering whether he was supposed to feel this hollow.

* * *

When Danielle awoke, she found herself lying on a hard, narrow bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. The walls were painted a pale peach, and the only other piece of furniture was a mahogany dressing-table with a glass of water on it. Although Danielle was admittedly thirsty, she wasn't about to make that mistake again after Erik had nearly poisoned her. Instead she sat up, noting that although her arms and legs were covered with half-healed cuts and scratches from where she had fallen on the glass, her injuries didn't appear to be infected or swelling at all. Tom was nowhere to be seen, and the curtains over the small window were pulled tightly shut, casting dark shadows onto the floor. This didn't feel like the Druri Inn at all; in fact, Danielle would have guessed that she was in a different building entirely.

To her mild surprise, her wand was tucked into her robes. Tom had had it last when he'd been dueling the wizards from the Ministry. Danielle jumped to her feet as she remembered, beginning to panic—but, although she wasn't at the inn, she probably wasn't imprisoned, either, or she most certainly wouldn't have her wand.

Something cold bumped against her throat as she stood up, and her hand flew up as her fingers brushed the metal of Slytherin's locket hanging around her neck. Danielle pulled at the locket and stared down at its glittering gold, still shiny even in the half-darkness of the bedroom. Hadn't Tom been wearing it last? Was he all right? Surely he wouldn't willingly give her the locket and his wand back.

To her astonishment, the locket jerked in her hand, and her palm suddenly felt very warm, as if it was giving off its own source of heat. Danielle turned it over in her hand and attempted to pry open the clasp, but no matter how hard she tugged at the clasp it wouldn't move. Had someone cast a spell on it?

Danielle let it fall back to her throat, still feeling its sudden warmth seep into her skin, and walked over to the window, hesitantly pulling the curtain aside so she could see outside. They appeared to be on a quiet suburban street; houses lined the road and, in the distance, she could see the familiar skyline and mountains of Tirana. Why was she on the opposite side of the city from the Druri Inn? Who had moved her here?

She spun back around, intending to leave the room and ask the first person she saw where she was, but she had scarcely taken two steps when the locket gave another jerk and she felt the warmth spreading throughout her whole body, all the way to the tips of her toes. It wasn't a particularly uncomfortable feeling, but Danielle tried to yank it off all the same. It wouldn't budge, and no matter how hard she tried to pull it over her head her efforts were futile.

It was then that she realized what it was: Tom had created a Horcrux.

Danielle screamed.


	19. Facta Non Verba

The locket hung heavy on Danielle's neck, taunting her, as she dashed out of the bedroom, heedless of what she would find waiting for her.

She found herself standing at the top of a narrow, creaky-looking set of stairs. The doors along the hallway, though all closed, were peeling with paint and seemed as if they would fall apart at a moment's notice. Whichever building she was in must be very old, even older than the Druri Inn.

The bottom of the stairs creaked loudly below, and Danielle stepped back as a boy her age began jumping up them, taking them two at a time. When he reached the top and spotted Danielle, he grinned easily at her, saying something in Albanian.

"I, er, I'm afraid I don't speak Albanian very well," she said as gently as possible. "Do you speak English?"

He sighed dramatically; Danielle felt a twinge of annoyance. "Yes, I do," he replied in perfectly clear, although accented, English. "What do you want?"

"I'd just like to know where I am—"

"Tirana." The boy smirked. It reminded her of Tom, and she felt even more frustrated.

"Yes, I know that much." The increasing warmth of the Horcrux was distracting her, and she wanted nothing more than to rip it off and throw it on the floor. "I meant where in Tirana?"

Now the boy frowned. He looked slightly disappointed that she didn't find him amusing. "This is a sort of lodging-place where people come to stay who are not welcome anywhere else. What have _you_ done?" he asked her, a bit suggestively.

Now Danielle's dislike for him was solidified. "That's none of your business," she snapped. "Listen, have you seen another boy around? Tall, dark-haired, blue eyes—"

"Oh, yes. Looks like he wants to kill everyone around him? He's downstairs in the pharmacy." The boy pursed his lips, looking her up and down. "You want to see _him?_ Bit out of your reach, don't you think?"

Danielle could have quite happily cursed him at that moment, but took a deep breath, wordlessly striding past him and starting down the stairs. He'd used the word _pharmacy,_ so that must mean he was a Muggle and therefore she could get into even more trouble with the Ministry if she so much as Stunned him. She could hear his jeering laughter echoing down the hall, only fueling the rage she was currently experiencing.

The lodge, or inn, or whatever it _was_ —why had Tom brought her to a Muggle-owned place anyway?—appeared to be built into the side of a pharmacy, as the boy had said. A small, plate-glass door opened up into a dark shop filled with bottles and different types of Muggle medicines. Danielle, keeping one hand on her wand, moved soundlessly through the aisles until she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired figure standing in front of one of the cabinets. Casting a Silencing Spell so that any Muggles browsing the shop wouldn't be able to hear them, she slunk forward just as Tom raised a glass to his lips and drank it in one. And then he collapsed.

Danielle rushed forward, concern clouding all other thoughts. She knelt to the ground beside him: he had gone very still, his eyes closed, and didn't respond to her touch. "Tom?" she asked, and felt for a pulse in his wrist, but found none.

His heart wasn't beating.

Just as she was about to yell for help, the locket at her neck gave a sudden jerk and it blazed hotter than ever, so warm that it burned her skin and she cried out in pain, dropping his hand.

Tom's eyes suddenly flew open and he gave a great, heaving breath, his eyes searching for hers. "It worked," were his first words, and he reached out for the locket, holding it between his fingers. There was a triumphant look in his eyes as he hauled himself to his feet, Danielle jumping up after him.

" _What_ worked?" she asked. There were so many questions, accusations, _insults_ she wanted to hurl at him that she barely knew where to start. Her mind was a muddled mess.

"The Horcrux," Tom replied, and there was blatant reverence in his voice. He nodded at that glass he had drunk from, which he'd set on the counter before he had fallen. "That was cyanide. I wanted to make sure it had worked."

" _Cyanide?_ " she asked, in a dangerously low voice. "You…you tried to _kill yourself?_ "

"I had to make sure it worked, Clara," he repeated. "And it did."

"Oh," Danielle said, her voice shaking. "I see."

And before Tom even had a chance to reply, she had slapped him across the face, the resounding crack echoing around the room. Danielle couldn't remember the last time she'd been so furious; her entire body was shaking with anger and she was quite literally seeing red. "You are a complete and utter _fool_ , Tom Riddle," she hissed.

She expected him to retaliate, or even for him to grab for her wand and curse her, but he did nothing. He just stood there and stared at her, as if he was nothing more than a statue. "Go on," Danielle challenged, the fire of her rage still coursing through her. "Curse me. Do it."

But Tom was still unmoving. Although his eyes were glimmering in the darkness, he hadn't reached for her wand. His face was curiously blank.

And the floodgates opened, every thought Danielle had had in the past three months came rushing out. "Why in the name of bloody _Merlin_ did you give me your Horcrux? I don't want it! As creepily romantic a gesture as that may seem, I don't want your _soul!_ Who did you kill to make it? And now you try to commit suicide to see if it actually worked. Listen, you can do what you want by yourself. That's fine. But when there's someone else in the equation— _me_ —you don't have the right to do anything. You've had endless chances to kill me, but you never have. And now you're acting like your feelings are the only thing that matters, not mine. As long as I'm around, I matter too, Tom. I gave up _everything_ for you. I've risked everything I have. I've given myself to you. And, if you're not going to kill me, then I'm not going to be tossed around like some kind of pet. I'm not going to stand back and watch you fall further into darkness, closer to becoming Voldemort." Tom opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't finished. "And you're _not_ Voldemort, not yet. As long as I'm still around, you can't have both. You're trying to make it work, but it never will. Someday you're going to have to make a decision."

She expected him to answer right away, as he had been about to interrupt her, but the silence stretched on. "Adelina was trying to murder me," he finally said, his voice flat. "I was nearly killed, and I had no other choice. I am not going to be that vulnerable again."

"But you _can_ be vulnerable," Danielle argued. "You can be vulnerable in so many ways—you already _are_. You constantly proclaim that I make you weak, but you never do anything about it! How is physical vulnerability any different from emotional vulnerability?"

Tom stared at her for a long moment before replying, "The one thing I will not do to become Voldemort is let go of you. The one thing I will not do for you is destroy the Horcrux."

"Well, then, it looks like you're stuck, isn't it?" she spat. Giving him the most disgusted look possible, she spun around and began to walk away, but Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. Danielle stumbled backward, her back banging against the counter and knocking over the empty glass, which fell onto the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Neither of them watched it break.

"Have I ever told you," Tom asked, "How _infuriating_ it is when you stalk away like a child?"

"As if you haven't ever done the same thing!" Danielle hissed, but he was already speaking over her.

"You believe that you are the only one who has given up everything," he continued. "But yet, you, Clara, have not seemed to grasp the fact that I have also given myself to you."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. You can't even say that—"

"—That I am in love with you," Tom finished, and she froze, all coherent thoughts rushing out of her mind. His mouth twisting up slightly at the expression on her face, he said, "And I _am_ in love with you. Is that all you want, Clara? Do words really mean more to you than everything I have done?"

"No, but I don't see why you couldn't have said it before!" Danielle snapped, flustered.

"I _did_ ," Tom said patiently, "In the Room of Requirement, but that was not satisfactory enough for you. It was rather amusing to see how important it was to you. Perhaps it is more of a Muggle gesture?"

"Well, why are you suddenly saying it now, then?" she asked. "Making a Horcrux is supposed to strip you of your humanity, not add more of it!" Something in his face hardened.

"It has," he said in a blank tone. "I cannot…something is _missing._ I said it because I wanted to see if it would cause me to feel anything."

Danielle's eyebrows raised. "And has it?"

"I do not know," Tom said, and then somehow his lips were on hers and he was pushing her even further back into the board so that her back was hurting, but she didn't care about that. She dimly marveled at the fact that they were kissing in such a public place, where anyone could walk by, but a strange fever seemed to have seized him. His hands were around her waist, pulling her as close as they could get, and she couldn't breathe, but it was the most wonderful feeling of pain. Never mind the fact that he was probably manipulating her to get her to forget about the fact that he had created a Horcrux—

And Danielle pulled away, her hands on either side of his face. His beautiful eyes were burning into hers and she forced herself to look at a point beyond his shoulder because she knew she would break if they made eye contact. "Stop," she said as firmly as she could. "I can't just blindly forgive you after you've done something like this."

"Adelina was the one who betrayed us," Tom said. "The hooded stranger set the Imperius Curse on her and made her confess our whereabouts to the Ministry. Looking into her mind, I have no doubt she would have eventually done it anyway," he added in disgust.

"She…she would have?" Danielle asked. "But she was letting me take care of Luana—"

"Because there was no else around," replied Tom. Seeing her expression, he said, "The baby will be safe, if that is what you are worried about."

"No, Kaltrina and Brahim will take care of her." Danielle trailed off. "But why would the hooded stranger do something like that?"

She could tell by Tom's frustrated expression that he didn't know either. "Grindelwald might have answers," he said, although it was mostly to himself. "I believe I have found a way of getting into Nurmengard…"

"That's great," Danielle said sarcastically, "But what if I'm killed trying to escape? _You_ won't be, of course, but I don't have a chance—"

"There are other ways to become immortal, Clara," Tom breathed, his breath tickling her face. The feeling of his body was against hers was too distracting, and Danielle had to forcefully tear herself away from the thoughts her overactive imagination was beginning to harbour. "I will find a way—you will not have to make a Horcrux…"

"You want _me_ to become immortal with you?" she screeched. "Tom, no—I don't want to be immortal. I want to die someday."

"Do you?" he asked, and stepped away from her. She had been praying for him to let go of her a second before, and now she found that she wanted him back. _Damn him,_ she thought furiously.

"Of course I do," Danielle said. "I want to see my family again, tell them I love them and that I'm sorry…besides, I don't want to live on this earth forever. What will happen after a thousand, two thousand years? You will eventually become tired. You will become bored."

"I cannot know that until it happens," Tom said.

"Why are you afraid of death?" she whispered.

"It is a weakness," he nearly snarled, his eyes narrowing. "I have told you this enough times—"

"But if you think death is a weakness, and you are making Horcruxes to keep yourself alive, doesn't that make you even _more_ vulnerable?" Danielle asked, nonplussed. "Wouldn't you be stronger if you faced death with courage?"

She could tell her logic wasn't getting anywhere with Tom; he silenced her with a "You cannot understand, Clara," and the invisible wall came down between them again. Just five minutes ago, he had finally confessed to her that he loved her. And now he was acting cold and distant again—but that was Tom, Danielle knew by now. He wouldn't _be_ Tom Riddle if he was any other way.

"The Horcrux," she said reluctantly, changing the topic, "Why can't I take it off?"

"I placed a charm on it," Tom explained; he started to head toward the shop door and Danielle followed him out, blinking in the sudden bright sunlight and the bustling cobblestone street lined with quaint houses. "I trust that you will keep it safe."

"But it nearly burned me," she half-whined as they walked down the sidewalk, blending into the crowd of Muggles. "It feels warm to the touch."

This interested Tom; he turned back around to look at her curiously. "Does it?" he asked. "That is…strange. I have never read any reports of a Horcrux doing that."

"Maybe it likes me," Danielle mumbled under her breath as she unconsciously reached up to grab it. "That would be just my luck…"

Tom led her down a short alleyway and into a narrow sidestreet adorned with shady-looking pubs and destroyed Muggle buildings. This was the side of Tirana that hadn't yet been reopened to the public—the side that had been destroyed in the war.

"Where are you taking me?" Danielle asked, jogging to keep up with his brisk pace. In answer, Tom pointed at a row of trashcans, which suddenly transformed into Danielle's luggage and Alistair's cage. She breathed a sigh of relief; in the commotion she had forgotten about her things. Aware of Tom's eyes on her, she Summoned a piece of parchment, a quill, and a jar of ink from her trunk before hastily scrawling a note on it:

_Kaltrina and Brahim,_

_I cannot express how sorry I am for the loss of Adelina. You have been nothing but kind and welcoming to us, and we have repaid you like this. I wish to give you my deepest apologies, for I understand the loss of a loved one. I know that this note will be met with hostility, even hatred, but I hope that one day I am able to come back and explain everything to you._

_-Ruth Davies_

She deliberately used her pseudonym in case the letter was intercepted along the way—she wouldn't put it past the Ministry. Danielle held the letter back and stared at it, unable to put her feelings into words. The thought of Kaltrina's hatred burned her like fire.

"Would you have been more satisfied if I had let her kill me?" Tom asked, reading over her shoulder.

"Of course not, but I still feel horrible." Danielle sighed and folded up the letter, opening Alistair's cage so she could place it in his beak. "Bring this to the Druri Inn, all right?" she asked him. "It's not that far."

He hooted in response and happily soared out of his cage with a flurry of grey wings. Danielle straightened up and turned back to Tom, who looked impatient. "Are you _quite_ finished now, Clara?" he asked. "I suppose you would like to send an apology letter to the rest of the guests at the inn now?"

She frowned at him. "Yes, yes, we'll go see Grindelwald. I just have two questions: one, why the Muggle place?"

"It was the quickest and most convenient way to get poison," Tom replied. "Besides, the Ministry most likely has more officials searching for us—they would never think to look in an area densely populated by Muggles."

"All right," Danielle said slowly. "And my second question: Why didn't you fight back when I slapped you?"

He surveyed her for a second before replying, "It was the first time I'd actually felt something since I made the Horcrux. Physical pain. I thought that had vanished as well."

"Well, damn," Danielle said under her breath. "I was thinking you'd finally come to your senses." Tom had begun to walk away from her, and she levitated her luggage, her trunk floating along behind her and Ophelia buzzing on her shoulder as she ran after him. "So we're going to Germany _now?_ " she asked, slightly breathless.

Tom nodded and, with a slight sigh, stopped and waited for her to catch up. But just as Danielle reached him, his head snapped around and he grabbed her arm, yanking her into the half-destroyed doorway of the ruins. Drawing her behind him, he murmured something under his breath and she felt the sudden cold of the Disillusionment Charm washing over them.

"What is it?" Danielle whispered.

"The Ministry," he replied shortly, a quick flash of anger crossing his face. "They have tracked us down."

"How?" she asked, but was interrupted but a boy's voice calling, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

As much as Danielle loathed the voice, even after hearing it for such a short time, she relaxed. "I know him," she said, grabbing Tom's arm before he could curse him. "He's just a Muggle boy I saw when I was looking for you—"

But Tom had gone rigid: he pushed Danielle farther into the house. "He is not alone," he hissed into Danielle's ear. " _Go!"_

Something about the urgency of his voice propelled her to move further back; Ophelia's nervous chattering was a dull buzz in Danielle's ears as she moved backward through the dark house—whatever light that had managed to shine in through the entrance was swallowed up in an instant. " _Lumos!"_ Danielle whispered, feeling a rush of relief when her wand flared up with light. But it was short-lived: she could still barely see more than five feet in front of her. The house, or whatever sort of building it had been before the air-raid that had doubtless destroyed it, seemed to be covered in a suffocating darkness, so black that Danielle found it hard to believe light had ever existed in this place. But she continued moving doggedly backward, feeling for any obstruction behind her—until her foot found empty air and she fell down, letting out a scream that was stifled by her meeting with the ground, which thankfully wasn't very deep.

Spitting out the taste of blood in her mouth, Danielle saw that the pinprick of light radiating from her wand was several meters away; she'd dropped it during her fall. Pulling herself to her feet, she started toward it—but not before something large and furry crawled over her hand. Danielle gritted her teeth so she wouldn't shriek as she lunged for her wand and held it over her head, illuminating the space she was standing in.

It appeared to be a cellar—or _had_ once been—with jars of food and drink scattered over the stone floor. Most were overturned with their contents spilling out on the floor, and cobwebs adorned the walls. But that wasn't what horrified Danielle: there were dozens, if not hundreds, of rats scuttling around everywhere, their eyes tiny and beady red shining against her wandlight. They were running over her shoes, inside the jars, and some even appeared to be making a nest out of a lump in the corner, which was, she realized belatedly, the remains of a middle-aged woman. Her dress was completely torn and only fragments remained. Her skin had been nearly peeled off, leaving sinew and bone behind. One eye was missing from its socket and her mouth was open in a sick, twisted grin. Before Danielle's eyes, she saw one of the rats scuttle into her dead mouth.

"Oh, dear _Merlin,"_ Danielle muttered to herself, resisting the urge to vomit, and took a flying leap towards the ladder, grabbing onto its rungs before the rats could reach her and pulling herself up, feeling bile rise up in her throat. Ophelia had taken off long ago, and she hoped that the Snidget had gotten herself to safety.

A bright flash of light suddenly blazed up around her, and Danielle's eyes closed of their own accord as she hauled herself up onto the main floor again, stumbling to her feet. By the time the spots had receded from her eyelids and she could stand to open her eyes again, she was completely blinded and couldn't even see the light from her own wand. The sudden light had faded, but she _couldn't see._

"I'm over here," the boy's taunting voice jeered, and she strained to see him, pointing her wand in his direction even though she knew he was a Muggle.

"Who are you?" Danielle demanded, although it was difficult to sound confident when she couldn't even see.

"I think the better question would be _where_ I am," the boy replied, a trace of laughter in his voice, and she was suddenly reminded of Erik, Erik after he had revealed himself to be who he truly was.

But before Danielle had time to dwell on that, the bright light lit up the room again, and this time she could see everything. She was standing near the edge of the cellar, with just a tiny crack of light across the room to show where the door was, and across from her stood the boy who had laughed at her, pointing a wand at her heart. "But you—you're a Muggle!" Danielle cried in surprise. "I thought—"

"Wrong, obviously," the boy sneered, and Danielle thought she recognized something familiar in that expression, but it was gone before she had a chance to react. He shot a Stunning Spell at her and she conjured a Shield Charm, watching the light reverberate off the shield and disappear in a shower of red sparks.

"Where's Tom?" Danielle asked as they slowly began to circle each other, around the caved-in hole of the cellar. She could hear the squeaks of rats below, and shuddered in disgust.

"Over there," the boy said, jerking his head at the entrance. Danielle shone her wand higher and saw that Tom was tied up, bound by ropes to the wall. A Ministry official—one of the ones who had been in the drawing-room at the Druri Inn, the one Tom hadn't killed—stood in front of him. Tom was struggling against his bonds, but even he wasn't able to break them.

"Not so confident now, huh?" the boy called back to him, and Danielle could see the hatred on Tom's face even from her distance. "Muggle weapons suddenly seem a lot more dangerous now, don't they?" To Danielle's horror, he pulled a long, shining knife from his pocket and, his hand flashing so quickly he barely saw it, tossed it at Tom. Danielle didn't see the moment of impact, nor did Tom make a sound, but he suddenly jerked upright, clutching his right hand, as blood splattered the wall behind him.

"Oh no you don't," the boy snarled as he whirled back around to Danielle, who had shot a Stunning Spell of her own at him. She was struggling to remember what she had learned in Dueling Club, but was distracted by a jet of blue light flying past her and crashing into the dirt behind her. Mud and dirt rained down onto her hair and clothes as she sent a Leg-Locker Curse at the boy, who easily dodged it.

The Ministry official seemed to be too preoccupied paying attention to Tom to notice her, or else Danielle would have been defeated long ago. She stared across the distance into the boy's narrowed eyes, burning with hatred—but why hatred? He didn't know her…did he? Erik was dead; she had seen his body, hollow and lifeless. So who else could it be?

Danielle was momentarily distracted as he yelled, " _Crucio!"_ and she dodged out of the way as the curse bounced off the stone floor and reverberated onto the ceiling, where a cloud of debris came crashing down feet from her. A floorboard caught her in the shoulder and she cried out as she felt it tear her robes, creating a gash in her skin. But she couldn't afford to think about her injuries right now—the debris had caused a puff of dust to rise up between her and the boy, briefly blocking the other from their sight. And Danielle had a sudden, brilliant idea.

She sent a Reductor Curse flying up at the ceiling and leaped backwards as a huge portion of the roof caved in, crashing down onto the cellar and the space between them. She heard the boy give a strangled yell as one of the boards hit him directly on the head—and then there was only silence.

Danielle sank to her knees, crouching behind one of the mounds of dirt. She had to fight to keep from coughing—she must look a sight, covered in dirt and dust. Sooner or later, the boy would come around the corner, expecting her to have moved to the other side…

…And several seconds later he did. He appeared to be bleeding badly from the head and was walking with a slight limp. Before he had time to process that she was there, Danielle jumped out from behind her hiding place and yelled, " _Petrificus Totalus!"_

He went rigid, his entire body freezing, and thumped onto the ground. Grinning in triumph, Danielle pocketed her wand and crawled over to him, where he stared up at her with motionless eyes. "Not so confident, huh?" she asked, mocking his words to Tom earlier, and heaved him over the gap into the cellar, where his body hit the ground with a dull thump. The excited squeaking of rats greeted him, and she imagined it would take a good hour before the Body-Bind Curse finally wore off.

When she straightened up, she saw with disbelief that the Ministry official _still_ hadn't realized that something had gone wrong. Danielle moved as quietly as she could through the house, climbing over piles of dirt and debris, until she was standing directly behind him. _Stupefy,_ she thought, and with a burst of red light he fell, unfortunately hitting his head on one of the loose boards that had fallen down from the ceiling.

Danielle made sure he really was unconscious before hurrying over to Tom and untying the ropes that bound him to the wall. There was a puddle of blood on the floor from his bleeding hand and although she knew he wouldn't die, she imagined he was in a great deal of pain. "Clara?" he asked her, seeming slightly disoriented. "How did you—?"

"I won the duel," Danielle told him, feeling a wave of vindictiveness, and grabbed his uninjured hand as she pulled him out of the house. "Let's go."

Once they were outside again, blinking in the bright sun, she Summoned her trunk and Tom's luggage back over to them. Taking a deep breath and hoping her Apparition skills were up to the job, she turned on the spot and Disapparated both of them to an empty field just outside of the city, which was about as far as she could manage in her current state. After she'd Vanished the dirt away from her and Tom, she turned back to him, who had been surprisingly quiet. He was holding his bleeding hand against his chest, and for a horrible second she thought he had been Splinched, but realized with guilty relief it was just the blood from his injury.

"Tom, are you sure you still want to go to Nurmengard?" Danielle asked. "You're in pretty bad shape—"

"I am fine. Give me your wand."

She handed it over to him without complaint, and he conjured a bandage to wrap around his hand before casting an Undetectable Extension Charm on their things, leaving only one of Danielle's handbags behind. She slung it over her shoulder and straightened up, dragging a tired hand over her eyes. "Who was that boy?" she asked. "He seemed to _know_ us, but I thought he was just a Muggle…"

"Apparently not," Tom said curtly, casting a Disillusionment Charm over them again. "I do not know, Clara." He looked frustrated, and Danielle sympathized with him: there were so many things they didn't understand.

"Well, at least we got away," she mumbled, grabbing his arm and steeling herself for another Disapparition.

* * *

They had to Disapparate three times before they reached Germany, stopping in Italy and Switzerland for less than a second before they'd left again. Danielle caught a glimpse of rolling green fields in Italy and snow-capped mountains in Switzerland before her world turned dark again, and she was feeling worn-out by the time they landed in a dense forest in Germany, which, she figured, was probably fairly close to where the Blacks' cottage had been— _would_ be, she reminded herself. With any luck, it wouldn't be built at all. She'd almost forgotten that it was winter, and wrapped her arms around herself to fend off the cold as snow piled up around her feet.

Tom was already starting forward, holding Danielle's wand out in front of him. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said to him as they wove a path through the trees, finally emerging out onto the cliff that, she was sure, had been the site of the cottage. It was rather eerie now to look and see only snow. "Breaking into Nurmengard _again_...it's bound to be even worse now, what with Grindelwald being in there."

"Actually, the opposite is true," Tom answered. "Since the prison was built by him, he persuaded the guards to move him to a cell on the ground floor with less security and more freedom. It should be far easier for us to get inside."

"But Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore does not know." Tom suddenly kneeled down in front of the cliff, putting a small, triangular-shaped dark object on the snow. Danielle only saw a flash of it before she realized what it was, and her mouth dropped open.

"Is that a _bomb?_ " she gasped. "Tom, what do you need a Muggle bomb for—how did you get it—"

"It will be a distraction," Tom said. He held out his hand to her, and after a moment she hesitantly took it. He Apparated them across the cliff, to a spot where she could now see the tall fortress of Nurmengard spread out before them. "I retrieved it from the ruins of that house. It is an unexploded bomb, but it should be set off with magic."

"What if it doesn't work?" Danielle hissed, keeping her eyes on the pile of snow where she knew the bomb lay. "What then?"

"It will." Tom sounded utterly confident as he drew out her wand and pointed it at the patch of land. Danielle strained to see, wondering if she should cover her ears—

And then there was a resounding boom as the bomb was set off, a fireball reaching hundreds of feet into the air and sending a group of gulls flying off, squawking loudly. Danielle heard several loud cracks as dozens of men suddenly swarmed onto the scene where it had exploded: the guards, she presumed.

Tom was already up and striding toward the prison. Danielle scrambled up and ran after him, pulling her handbag up around her shoulder. "How long do you think we have?" she whispered to him.

He glanced back at the guards, who still appeared to be occupied with the explosion, and said, "Ten minutes, maybe less."

"Ten _minutes?_ That's not enough time—"

"Yes, it is." He marched up to the immense iron gates and Danielle felt a ripple of powerful magic pass through the air; she wondered if her wand would crack under the pressure. The gate swung open in front of Tom and, not wanting to waste time, sprinted after him, hearing it close with a loud clang behind her as they headed up to the front doors.

Tom was staring at them as if he was concentrating hard on something—a slight annoyance flashed across his face and he turned back to Danielle. "There are at least a dozen guards just inside the doors," he told her. "Even I would not able to duel all of them at once and win. You are defenceless without your wand, and they would kill you as soon as they saw you."

Her heart sank. "Then what do we—" But Tom was moving toward one of the tiny, barred windows. She crept after him, wondering how on earth they were going to get inside. But he had a plan: the wall seemed to shimmer before her very eyes and it turned transparent. Inside she could see a medium-sized cell with a bed that looked comfortable enough and a table with a stack of books piled on it. Sitting at the table was a handsome man with blond hair who she recognized as Grindelwald. His head snapped around as if he had sensed their presence and his eyes focused on them.

"How did you do that?" Danielle asked. Tom reached out and placed his hand on the wall—it was still completely solid brick, meaning that neither of them could attack the other.

"Tom Riddle," Grindelwald said, standing up and sauntering toward Tom. It appeared as if they had only a few feet of space between them instead of a heavily magically protected barrier. "What brings you here? Finally decided to take me up on my offer?"

"No," said Tom. He began to pace in front of the cell, Danielle hovering behind him. "I have come to ask you a question."

"And why would you think I would answer you?" Grindelwald asked, a slight smirk on his face. "You are too arrogant for your own good, I can see that—but I was once the same way. You have done your research, Riddle—only a truly talented and powerful wizard would use the _own charms_ I placed on this fortress against me." He patted the barrier, his smirk growing even wider.

Danielle wished she could see Tom's expression: his voice was cool and detached as he spoke, although she knew he was burning with curiosity on the inside. "I know that you last had the Elder Wand. I know that it was stolen from you. What happened?"

Grindelwald laughed; the sound was rather alarming and Danielle took a step backwards. "Of course you know about that. I would have assumed you spoke to Gregorovitch if I had not killed him shortly before you arrived here. You desire it, don't you? Yes, the look in your eyes says it all. Well, I have no doubt that you would have killed me to obtain it, but, luckily, it _was_ stolen from me."

"When?"

"Before my duel with Dumbledore." Grindelwald's eyes narrowed. "Several of my closest guards were killed by a man wearing a hooded robe. I never saw his face, but he overpowered me and took the wand."

Danielle gasped, but neither of them looked over at her. "I encountered him several months ago," Tom said. "He had the Elder Wand at the time. I intend to take it from him."

"Well, then, I wish you the best of luck," Grindelwald replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And the best of luck finding the other two Hallows as well. Dumbledore got the blasted cloak, and I never did find the stone, although I've long suspected that he had found it and didn't tell me."

"So you have no idea who the stranger was?" Tom asked.

Grindelwald shook his head. "Just as much as you do, boy. I am of no use to you now. I do not wish to aid Dumbledore's pets."

"I am _not_ Dumbledore's pet," Tom spat, and Danielle could sense Grindelwald's amusement at striking a nerve.

"Aren't you?" he asked, as if he were speaking to a child. "Once I thought that you and I would have made a formidable team, Tom Riddle. But after you killed my son, I can see that you are better off alone. You are hovering on the edge between light and darkness now. You will have to choose."

Danielle could tell Tom sorely wished there was not a barrier separating him and Grindelwald: his fingers tightened on her wand. "Very well, then," he said, and began to turn away, but the Dark wizard called him back.

"Now that you have the information you wanted, what will you do for _me_ in exchange?" Grindelwald called back, taunting him.

Tom paused for a long second before he replied, "I will not tell Dumbledore that you have invented a way to make contact with the outside world. If he knew about this, you would be given the death penalty."

Grindelwald began to laugh—it was the laughter of a deranged man, cruel and ruthless. Tom strode toward Danielle and she paused, unsure what he was going to do; but he grabbed her wrist and they Disapparated, Grindelwald's laugh still ringing in their ears.

* * *

When the world reformed around her again, Danielle found herself in familiar surroundings: they were standing in the small German village that she, Skender, and Georgina had Apparated to after _they_ had returned from Nurmengard and she had been Splinched. Luckily, it was a much less painful walk through the town, which had a quaint charm of its own despite being blanketed in snow, and into a small inn where Danielle presumed they would be staying for the next unknown amount of time. Tom's face was like stone and she could sense his anger—they hadn't learned anything new from Grindelwald. His open mockery of Tom only added fuel to the fire. Danielle sighed, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a very, very long time.

While Tom paid the innkeeper (who didn't seem to be nearly as friendly as Kaltrina) Danielle trudged up the stairs to their room, which wasn't nearly as furnished as the Druri Inn and contained nothing more than a bed and a washbasin. She sat down on the tiny bed, hoping she wouldn't hit her head on the ceiling, and picked up the newspaper that lay at the foot of the bed, scanning the headlines. She couldn't read German, but she _could_ manage to figure out the date: it was the eighth of December.

Danielle gasped just as Tom walked into the room, tossing her wand onto the bed. "What is it?" he asked, frowning suspiciously at her.

She looked unhappily at him. "Tomorrow is Alyssa and Alphard's wedding."


	20. Underlying Darkness

"Wedding?" Tom repeated. He coolly raised an eyebrow at Danielle, as if he couldn't fathom why she would tell him that. "And?"

"I promised I would be there," Danielle said, falling back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling—which was much closer to her face than she was used to. "We have to go back to England."

" _You_ have to go back to England," Tom corrected, closing the door behind him. "Very well. I am sure that no one will notice an escaped prisoner from Azkaban is at the wedding—"

"No, both of us are going," Danielle said firmly, interrupting his heavily sarcastic remark. "Alphard told me that he could lend us some Polyjuice Potion and we could turn into Black relatives. Besides…chances are that Dumbledore will be there, and we could press him for more information."

Tom did not look pleased that now it was Danielle's turn to coerce him into doing something he didn't want to do, but his lack of response confirmed that he had no other argument against going. "Besides," Danielle said hurriedly, trying to convince him as quickly as possible, "There's nothing left here, anyway. Grindelwald already said he doesn't know what happened to the Hallows, and we know at least one of them is with Dumbledore."

Tom raked a hand through his hair in apparent defeat and walked over to examine the newspaper; there were dark circles under his eyes again and he was moving much more slowly than he usually did, as if every step was an effort for him. "Tom," Danielle said softly. He didn't look over at her. "You need to sleep."

"And what if you become angry at me again?" he asked stiffly; she wondered how he could look so intent about the newspaper, unless he knew German and wasn't telling her—she certainly wouldn't be surprised. "You slapped me across the face not three hours ago."

"Well, shortly after I _did_ , you told me that you loved me," Danielle said, trying to sound lighthearted. "Who knows what will happen if I injure you again?"

Tom did not look amused: he put the newspaper down and sat down on the bed next to her, dropping his head and putting his face in his hands. Danielle drew a sharp intake of breath; he rarely, if ever, showed any signs of weakness or exhaustion, not even to her. He was so detached and so _inhuman_ sometimes that she wondered if he'd even begun to believe it himself. Hesitantly, she reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up," she told him, although she knew that was the _last_ thing he would do. "You shouldn't be despondent yet. We know where at least one of the Hallows is, we'll talk to Dumbledore tomorrow and I might be able to persuade him to tell us where the other one is, and…you're immortal now. You don't have to worry about being killed if the Ministry finds us."

"But _you_ do," Tom replied, lifting up his head and looking at her; his expression was unreadable. "Nothing has gone the way I planned it, Clara. If you had told me three years ago that I would be here, staying with you and… _feeling_ for you as I do right now, I would never have been able to believe it."

"I would have had the same reaction if you'd told me the same thing," Danielle said wryly. She twisted to the side and moved herself so that she was sitting on his lap; his hands moved to wrap around her waist, holding her securely against him. "Love is not a weakness, Tom," she added, so quietly that even she could barely hear the words. "You act as if it's something despicable."

"And I believed it was," he agreed, his grip tightening on her. "When I saw people fighting, even dying, to save those they loved, I thought they were merely pathetic and I told myself that I would never allow myself to do such a thing. But now that I can understand them, I wish I did not." His tone was so musing Danielle wondered if he was even talking to her anymore.

"I wouldn't give this up for the world," she said. "I wouldn't give _you_ upfor the world. And…" she rested her head against his chest, "I did."

When Tom didn't answer, lost in his own brooding thoughts, she turned her face up to his and kissed his jaw, moving her mouth up and along to his lips. He didn't respond, and Danielle sighed in mock annoyance. "I thought men were supposed to _like_ that kind of thing," she muttered to herself, and daringly tried a different tack, swinging her legs over his hips and grazing her teeth over his earlobe.

" _Clara,_ " Tom groaned, but she couldn't say whether it was from annoyance or pleasure. Whatever the case, Danielle's heart began to speed up—it was funny, even after she had done this so many times, that it never failed to excite her—and she pushed him back onto the bed. Tom, finally pulling himself out of his strange mood, let himself fall back, and Danielle leaned forward against him, feeling her skin burning even through her clothes where his hands were wrapped around her waist, staring down at him triumphantly.

"Maybe I should have tried that before," she mused.

"And why exactly are you trying to seduce me?" Tom asked, his voice slightly huskier than normal. "I thought you wanted me to sleep."

"You'll _need_ to sleep after this," Danielle giggled. She tried to make her voice as low and seductive as possible, but it only came out sounding ridiculous, like something out of a Muggle cartoon. "Oh, Merlin," she complained. "I'm so horrible at this. You'd think even after six months of sleeping with you I'd become a bit more adept—"

"You," Tom began with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Babble on _far_ too much." He roughly pulled her face down to his, effectively shutting her up. Danielle remembered when she had first returned to the Druri Inn after coming back from the future and Tom telling her that her distraction techniques weren't effective. Well, judging by the way he was kissing her as if his life depended on it, his mouth pressing against every available inch of her body and his hands fumbling with her robes—as smooth and charming as Tom was, he could never quite hide his lack of experience in activities that involved any form of genuine social contact—she liked to think that she had become a lot better.

* * *

Alistair returned later that evening, but with no return letter in his claws. Danielle couldn't say that she was surprised, although she was admittedly disappointed. At least Kaltrina had taken the letter instead of sending it straight back, unopened.

Tom was staring out the window, seeming pensive. Danielle had been watching him for the past several minutes, wondering what he was thinking about. As the light outside had grown dim, the tiny village had come alive, and lights winked from the buildings across the street and figures dressed in thick coats ran down the darkened road. High above them, the mountains loomed in the distance, seeming more forbidding than protective in the dark. Danielle felt as if she was stuck inside a Muggle postcard, although she had to admit the town was very picturesque.

The silence was broken as Alistair began to gnaw on the lock of his cage, eager to be let out again now that he was fully healed. Ophelia, upset at being woken up from her nap, chattered in annoyance as she buzzed around the cage, seeming almost as if she was taunting Alistair. Danielle's gaze turned to her pets as she watched them, a small smile appearing on her face. The owl and the Snidget had formed an unlikely friendship over the course of the past few months, and she was pleased to see they were getting along—well, for the most part.

Tom finally turned away from the window, his silhouette half in light and half in darkness, casting odd shadows over his handsome face. It was times like these that Danielle realized how truly _unattainable_ he was, with his cold beauty and cruel eyes, that she wondered how on earth she had managed to get this far with him. He was unlike anyone who had ever existed, and he was _hers_ —or, at least, as much of hers as he could be. "What is it?" she asked, since he was looking over at her.

"You are too quiet," Tom said, in a soft voice of his own. "I do not believe you have been silent for this long when you do not have something to keep you occupied."

"I'm just…worried," Danielle admitted, knowing he would use Legilimency on her if she didn't answer. "I thought that things would be a bit better now, and you would still be at Hogwarts and neither of us would have gone to Azkaban and I would still be trying to avoid Olive Hornby and Holstone in the Time Room—" She continued babbling on until she realized that Tom had gone rigid, his blue eyes staring at her.

"Clara," he said, and he strode over to her, his gaze full of urgency. "What exactly did Holstone make you do in the Time Room?"

Frowning slightly at his strange behaviour, she replied, "We just had to wind up Time-Turners, although I can't imagine why he would want us to—it was all very odd—"

Tom was staring at her with a look of, well, Danielle could find no other word to describe it but _realization_ , as if something that had been evading him for a long time had finally clicked in his mind. "Tom?" she asked hesitantly. "What is it?"

"I had not considered that possibility before, but when you reminded me of it I realized that it does make sense…" he muttered to himself, straightening up and striding back over to the window, pacing back and forth in front of it.

" _What_ makes sense?" Danielle asked again, but Tom was spared from answering by the sudden roar of the fire. Both of them turned to see the flames glow bright green, and Tom grabbed her wand, but the face that appeared in it was very familiar.

"Alphard!" Danielle gasped. She hopped off the bed and rushed over to him, happy to see a friendly face. "How did you know we were staying here?"

"Lucky guess," he shrugged. When she glared at him, he relented, "Fine, fine, I went to that inn in Albania to ask if you were still there, but they told me you had already left and to search for Henry and Ruth Davies. So I eventually came up with this." He shrugged, although the self-satisfactory smirk on his face was answer enough.

"Who's 'they'?" Danielle asked. "I mean, who talked to you at the Druri Inn?"

"An old man," Alphard said. "He was quite friendly, although I was rather worried that he would shrivel up on the spot—"

"Brahim," breathed Danielle. "Did he seem…angry at all?"

"Angry?" Alphard asked. "Not particularly…but then again I wasn't paying very much attention. I'm getting married tomorrow, see."

"Yes, and we're _both_ planning to be there," Danielle said firmly, indicating Tom behind her. "But I think we'll need some Polyjuice Potion, if you can find any."

"That's actually what I wanted to tell you about," Alphard replied. "Lyssa wants me to make sure that you two were still attending, and if you weren't then I was to Stun both of you and Apparate you back to England. Anyway, we managed to get two vials of Polyjuice Potion and you can take them as soon as you get here. We'll clear a safe place for you in the drawing-room so no one barges in unannounced when you arrive. How does ten o'clock tomorrow sound?"

"Perfect," Danielle assured him, before Tom could answer. Alphard looked harried enough as it was—she didn't blame him—and she didn't want them to become thorns in his side. "We'll be there."

Her friend looked immensely relieved. "Thank you, Clara," he said. "Now I'd better go try on my suit one more time to make sure I haven't lost ten pounds in the past week with all the stress."

Danielle laughed. "You'll be fine," she told him. "I don't envy you, though—Alyssa must be one of the worst brides-to-be."

"You have no idea," muttered Alphard. "Just yesterday she—" his head suddenly spun around in the fire, staring at something Danielle couldn't see, and his eyes widened in fright. "Speak of the devil—angel!" he called. "I meant speak of the _angel!_ Gotta go, Clara!" With that, his head disappeared, a shower of sparks trailing in its wake.

Tom put out the fire with a wave of her wand, and Danielle straightened up, smoothing down her robes where the dirt piled on the floor had caked onto them. "I hope the wedding goes all right," she mused aloud. "I wish I was there to help talk Alyssa through it…she must be having a panic attack right now."

"If Miss MacDougal needs to be calmed down, perhaps she should not be marrying at all," Tom said shortly. "Regardless, I am certain that Mr Black will do a better job of calming her than you would."

Danielle frowned. " _Ouch_ ," she said, hurt in spite of herself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If it was the night before your wedding, would you rather have your friend or the groom-to-be around?" he retorted, but a sly grin had spread across his face. There was a sparkle in his eyes that went beyond mere amusement; something told Danielle that he was still thinking about Holstone and whatever connection he had to the Time Room.

"I suppose this is a purely hypothetical situation?" Danielle shot back. "I'm assuming I'll never get to experience that."

Tom didn't answer her—she didn't expect him to, but he had resumed his pacing in front of the window, looking intent. "So…" Danielle said slowly, sitting back down on the bed, "What did you mean when you said that you'd realized something about the Time Room?"

"There is a missing piece of the puzzle," Tom muttered, almost to himself. "If we find out why Holstone was so eager to have you work in the Time Room and the Ministry, that might give us a clue as to why he thought you were a time-traveller."

Danielle privately felt that there was much more than _one_ missing puzzle piece, but she wisely kept her silence.

* * *

At precisely ten fifty-five the next morning (as Germany was one hour ahead of Britain), Danielle was standing in front of the fireplace, a handful of Floo Powder clutched in her hand and the Horcrux safely tucked under her collar. Her luggage and owl cage were by her feet, Ophelia and Alistair safely tucked away inside.

Tom was leaning against the bedpost, looking less than thrilled, but at least he had agreed to go along with her. Danielle suspected it was more the thought of Dumbledore being there than her subpar persuasion skills, but whatever the method, he was there and that was all she really cared about.

"D'you think it will matter if I Floo in a minute early?" she asked. "What if Dylan and Alyssa haven't managed to clear everyone out of the room?"

Tom sighed. "Just go, Clara," he said impatiently, having gotten used to her constant anxieties ages ago. Danielle knew she would be deliberating the entire day if she didn't grit her teeth and just do it, so she took a step forward into the fire and, dropping the Floo Powder, yelled, "MacDougal Manor!" The last thing she saw was Tom staring coolly at her as she was swallowed up by the flames.

After several seconds of being spun mercilessly around the endless array of fireplaces, dust and soot making it difficult to breathe and nearly choking her, Danielle was spat out onto a plush carpet, her head still spinning. Relieved, as she always was when she traveled by Floo Powder, that she'd arrived in one piece, she scrambled to her feet and took inventory of the MacDougals' drawing-room, empty except for a red-headed boy lying on one of the couches, his face pressed into a pillow. At the sound of her entrance he jumped up, looking startled and disheveled. "Hey, Dylan," Danielle said, and he rushed up to hug her, looking relieved.

"Thank Merlin you've arrived, Clara," he said, smoothing back his hair. "You're probably the only person who can calm Lyssa down—we've all tried, but it hasn't worked. The wedding starts at noon and nobody's managed to calm her down long enough to get her into the dress."

"I'll take care of it," Danielle grinned. "She can't be any worse than Tom, anyway." There was a movement on one of the armchairs behind Dylan and she glanced over his shoulder to see a pretty girl sitting in front of the fire, turning back to look at them. She was every bit as beautiful as Adelina had been, but in a more delicate way, as if any slight touch would break her in half. She wore a long pink dress and her brown hair was curled and pinned up in the classic 1940's hairstyle, the look that Danielle could never manage no matter how long she spent in front of the mirror. But unlike Adelina, this girl's bright green eyes were friendly, if a little wary. She cast Danielle a shy smile, and Danielle smiled back.

"Clara, this is Felicity Beauclerc, my fiancée," Dylan said, and for the first time Danielle noticed that the girl was wearing a ring on her left hand. "Fee, this is Clara Ashford, one of my friends from Hogwarts."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Felicity said. She had a French accent, but appeared to be very fluent in English. Hadn't she met Dylan while they were both vacationing on the beach in Spain? Danielle remembered Alyssa teasing him about it…how long ago that seemed.

"So you proposed, Dylan," Danielle said, grinning at him. "Looks like I'll be attending another wedding soon."

"Maybe not," Dylan said in a low voice so Felicity couldn't hear. "Mother and Father are absolutely _furious_ with me. I can't believe they even allowed her to come to the wedding."

Danielle glanced back at the Muggle girl, who seemed, to put it lightly, terrified. "Well, she must love you if she's stayed with you after everything you've told her. She seems very…nice." It was hard to describe someone that she'd only known for thirty seconds, but the other girl gave off an air of overwhelming innocence. Danielle could only imagine how she managed to cope with her newfound knowledge of the wizarding world.

"I think she's scared of you," Dylan whispered. "Lyssa accidentally told her that you and Tom, er, had broken out of Azkaban."

Danielle looked at him sideways. She was sure there had been nothing "accidental" in Alyssa's story. "I'm sure she and Tom will be the best of friends, then," she muttered. "He's the least intimidating person on the planet and is always eager to learn more about Muggles."

Dylan choked, and as Danielle was wildly thinking up excuses to tell Felicity why her fiancé was laughing uncontrollably, she gave a little gasp and cringed away in her seat. Danielle didn't need to turn around to know that Tom had arrived.

"Hello, Mr MacDougal," he said smoothly, walking over to stand next to Danielle. "I trust you have brought the Polyjuice Potion?"

Dylan nodded, eyes still watering, and reached into his pocket, handing over two small vials. "I think they're from the Black family—at least that's what Alphard told me—"

"You _think?_ " Danielle asked skeptically, staring suspiciously at the brown liquid. "What if I turn into Alphard?"

"Then I guess Alyssa has a fifty-fifty chance of marrying either of you," Dylan said, recovering his composure. When Danielle gave him a withering look, he sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just drink it, won't you? I don't have the patience to deal with this right now."

Felicity stood up gracefully from the couch and slunk over to Dylan, resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned back into her embrace, and Danielle averted her eyes. "Riddle," he said without looking at him, "This is Felicity, my fiancée."

"I have noticed," Tom said shortly. Danielle waited to see if he would put on his air of false charm for her, but he didn't speak again.

To alleviate the awkward silence, she popped open the vial of Polyjuice Potion and, forgetting about how awful it tasted, downed it in one. Danielle gagged as the horrible taste slowly made its way down her throat, having to grip onto the back of the couch so she wouldn't vomit. Felicity looked positively alarmed as Danielle's forms began to twist and change, her hair straightening and her limbs stretching, until she was an entirely different person, a cruel-looking woman with long hair and raven-sharp eyes. When Danielle had gotten used to her new body, she glanced over at Tom and let of a cry of laughter—but it was in an unfamiliar voice. Tom had transformed into an old, balding man, with a hunched back and a cloud of white hair. Dylan couldn't hide his amusement, and even Felicity was smiling slightly.

"You're _old_ ," Danielle said in delight. " _And_ I'm taller than you."

Tom's exasperated glare looked ridiculous on the old man, sending Danielle into fits of laughter. Dylan shook his head as if to clear it from the sight before him. "I'm going to sleep for a few hours," he muttered over Danielle's giggles. "Wake me up when the wedding starts, Fee."

Felicity nodded, but after Dylan had left she apparently decided that she didn't want to be trapped in the same room with Tom and Danielle, since she whispered something about going to take a walk and then left the room.

Danielle's smug grin hadn't vanished since they'd taken the Polyjuice Potion, and she dearly wished she had a camera to forever capture the expression on Tom's face. "How are you feeling, Grandpa?" she asked. "I hope you'll be able to last through the wedding."

Tom was silent at first, but after a moment he seemed unable to contain his remark any longer and shot back, "I hope _you_ will be able to last through the wedding, Clara."

"Oh, is that a threat?" Danielle asked playfully. "I wonder how you'll be able to get any magic out of that wand, if you know what I mean—" All of her pent-up anxiety and worry over the past days was beginning to catch up with her in the form of hilarity.

She was certain that Tom would have actually cursed her if it hadn't been for the drawing-room door bursting open and Georgina striding in, clad in a long red dress that Danielle recognized from the Valentine's Day dance that had been held at Hogwarts nearly two years prior. "Sorry," she apologized when she saw Danielle and Tom—or rather, when she saw the two Blacks standing in front of the fire. "I was just looking for Skender—"

"Georgie, it's us. Clara and Tom," Danielle said. Georgina's eyes widened in surprise and then she clapped a hand over her mouth, as if she were trying hard not to laugh.

"Er, hi, you two," she said. "You've, er, certainly changed a lot in the past three months."

"Albania tends to do that to you," Danielle said. "Listen, do you know where Alyssa is? Dylan says that she's being an absolute horror."

"Yes, she's upstairs, but Merlin have mercy on your soul," Georgina said, ignorant of Danielle's wince. "It sounded like she was throwing very expensive glass against the wall last time I checked."

"Oh, dear," Danielle said, imagining Alyssa having a temper tantrum. "I'd better go help, then."

Georgina looked relieved. "By the way, have you seen Skender? He disappeared a while back—"

"N—no," Danielle replied quickly, remembering her currently shaky relationship with Skender and hoping that he would continue to be absent. Then again, he wouldn't recognize who they were unless Georgina told him…

"Well, come on, Riddle," Georgina was saying. "You look like you should sit down." Tom's scowl grew even deeper, and she smirked, enjoying his frustration every bit as much as Danielle was, and grabbed him by the arm, beginning to yank him out of the room. "Let's go find Alphard."

When Georgina had disappeared, dragging a very annoyed Tom behind her, Danielle slipped out into the entryway, stopping to greet Tippy, who was carrying a large and very precarious tray of Butterbeer, and ran up the stairs to Alyssa's room. There was a group of women crowded outside it, all whispering in hushed tones. They seemed to be afraid to venture inside: Danielle couldn't blame them.

"I'll take care of this," she told them assuredly, and pushed open the door to where Alyssa was lying facedown on her bed. Her hair was done up in an elaborate style and there was even a sparkling tiara on top of her head, but she was wearing an old, ratty robe instead of her wedding dress, which was spread out across the dressing-table.

"What do you _want?_ " she cried dramatically, sitting up and blowing her noise loudly. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she looked absolutely pathetic.

"It's me, Clara," Danielle hissed, closing the door behind her and casting a Silencing Spell over the room. She hurried over to the bed and sat down next to Alyssa. "Dylan gave me the Polyjuice Potion. Now, what's wrong?"

" _Dylan_ ," Alyssa hiccupped, "Is the biggest waste of space that has ever existed."

Danielle, bemused, asked, "Aren't you supposed to be saying that about Alphard?"

It was clear Alyssa didn't appreciate her attempt at a joke; she shot Danielle a hard glare before saying, "He thought it would be f—funny to pour Firewhiskey into my drink and I had at least six glasses!"

" _Oh,_ " Danielle said, immediately understanding. "You're drunk!"

"And I want Alphard but I'm not supposed to see him before the ceremony and I—I don't know what to _do!"_ wailed Alyssa. She blew her nose again and slumped back onto the bed.

Danielle stared at her for a moment, deliberating. She could spend another hour trying to convince Alyssa that if she could stand up, she would be able to walk down the aisle, or she could go for the more Slytherin-esque but effective approach. "Lyssa," Danielle began, "I'm really sorry that I have to do this, and I know that no one has been brave enough to attempt it yet, but— _Stupefy!"_ She pointed her wand at Alyssa, whose eyes slid out of focus, the handkerchief falling out of her hand.

Danielle stood up and, grinning to herself, headed out of the bedroom, where she found she had an eager audience waiting for her. "I think you'll find her a bit more cooperative now," she said to the women, who all stared at her in astonishment.

* * *

The remainder of the morning passed by relatively harmlessly—at least, there were no shouts or the sound of breaking glass coming from Alyssa's room, so Danielle figured that her Stunning Spell had done the trick. She didn't particularly want to face Alyssa in the next hour, either, since the other girl was well-known for her nasty jinxes.

Shortly before noon, the guests filed out to the backyard, where the snow-covered lawn was taken over by two large golden tents, shimmering in the winter air. Thankfully, their interiors were magically heated, and Danielle gratefully loosened her robes, under which she'd changed into a light blue dress which Georgina had thankfully lent her, as she had no formal clothes of her own.

While she was waiting for the ceremony to begin, Georgina slid into the spot next to her, exaggeratedly helping Tom into his seat. He looked, if possible, even angrier than he had that morning, and Danielle wondered what Georgina and Alphard had made him do. She'd caught the two of them exchanging conspiratorial glares more than once, and was amused that they were trying to torture Tom as much as possible.

"Enjoying the festivities?" she whispered to him.

"Very well, thank you," he said stiffly as Skender sat down on Georgina's other side. Trying to hide her discomfort, Danielle smiled as brightly as she could at Tom, knowing she was going to get an earful later.

The guests continued to pile into the tent, and Danielle watched them with interest. She was sure the entire pure-blood wizarding population of Britain had attended—she noticed with some amusement that Hepzibah Smith did not appear to be there—and none of whom appeared to be particularly overjoyed at having a Muggle in their midst. Danielle's heart went out to Felicity, who was staying very close to Dylan and looking as if she thought she was going to be eaten for dinner.

A glimpse of someone's white beard across the tent caught her attention, and Danielle's head snapped up. " _Dumbledore,_ " she breathed. Tom followed her gaze, and she could see a triumphant smirk cross his features.

But there wasn't time to get up and talk to him—the ceremony had already started. Alphard appeared at the front of the tent, sweating profusely and looking very nervous. Music began to float over the crowd, and everyone expectantly turned toward the front of the tent, where Alyssa was just beginning to enter, leaning on the arm of her father. Danielle searched her face for any signs of tears, but she was now grinning broadly and looked as healthy as ever, although her balance did seem slightly off-kilter.

Alphard's face was shining as Alyssa reached them, and while their vows were read by a short, bored-sounding middle-aged man, Danielle stared at the back of Dumbledore's head: he was sitting several rows in front of them, and she wondered how he had managed to get time away from Hogwarts to attend the wedding.

A cheer rose up from the assembled guests as Alphard lifted the veil away from Alyssa's face and kissed her: a shower of golden sparks exploded above their heads. Danielle cheered and clapped along with everyone else—except for Tom, of course—as the newly married couple turned back to their audience. "Throw the bouquet, Lyssa!" someone yelled, and, with an evil grin on her face, Alyssa tossed her bouquet of flowers straight at Danielle. She didn't have enough time to duck, and it hit her right in the stomach. She gasped in pain and narrowed her eyes at Alyssa as everyone's heads swiveled around to face her.

"Oops," Alyssa said, looking vindictive. Alphard whispered something soothing in her ear and she leaned into his embrace just as Dylan had leaned into Felicity's embrace earlier. While everyone filed out of the tent after Alyssa and Alphard, heading to the neighbouring one where the reception would be held, Danielle nudged Tom and leapt up to intercept Dumbledore.

"Sir!" she cried, jumping in front of him. While he blinked down at her, looking mildly surprised, she explained, "It's me, Clara."

"I could not imagine anyone else who would jump out at me like that," he said as the last person left the tent, leaving the three of them alone. "I thought that both of you would manage to make it to the wedding. However…" his mustache twitched, "I must ask why you are both disguised, as your names were cleared earlier today."

Danielle was so shocked that she couldn't speak right away. "What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"I mean, Mr Riddle, that you are no longer fugitives or wanted by the Ministry, and you may return to your flat in Diagon Alley if you wish," Dumbledore said. "I spent a good deal of time explaining the story of Mr Malfoy opening the Chamber of Secrets and you murdering him in self-defence to the Minister, and after careful deliberation he has admitted that you are cleared of all charges. As for you, Clara, McLaird has put no stock in Holstone's accusations against you being a time-traveller since he has no proof to back them up. I must also inform you that Vikram was sacked from his job back in September."

"He was sacked?" Danielle asked in glee, recovering her voice. "But how come we didn't know this before?"

"The Minister wanted to save face," explained Dumbledore. "He didn't want to admit he was wrong, and after I sent him several bottles of his favourite gin and arrived to speak with him in person, he was more than ready to, shall I say, confess that he had been in the wrong."

Danielle could hardly believe it. "So we're free?" she asked. "We don't have to go to Azkaban or stand trial?"

"I believe that is what he just said, Clara," Tom said dryly, but she was too jubilant to snap back at him. A large part of the worry and fear that had been hanging over head for the past three months seemed to have vanished, at least until she remembered what they had really wanted to speak to the Transfiguration professor about.

After she had taken a moment to celebrate, Danielle cleared her throat and began, "There's, er, there's something else, Professor."

"I see," Dumbledore said, not sounding shocked in the least. "I should have known." He laced his fingers in front of his magenta robes and stared down his nose at her. "What is the problem this time, Clara?" he asked kindly.

So Danielle told him about the hooded figure, about the Ministry's attack on the Druri Inn, about the strange boy she had dueled with in Tirana, and their conversation with Grindelwald, knowing that Dumbledore would not judge them. She told him everything that had happened in the past months…except for Tom's Horcrux. The words seemed to be stuck in her throat, and she couldn't utter a sound about it.

When she'd finished, she expected Dumbledore to look worried, or even confused…but certainly not _knowing._ He was nodding slightly, seeming almost as if he had expected something akin to what she had told him. "Well, Clara," he began heavily, "I have been doing research of my own in these past months. I have discovered some very interesting findings with may help to explain your current situation." He paused before saying, "I believe that Vikram is working for Salazar Slytherin."

" _Slytherin?_ " Danielle and Tom asked, for once, in unison. "But that's impossible—"

"It is not," Dumbledore replied; he looked very old. "Legend has long stated that Salazar is still alive, and during the summer I traveled to the far reaches of the planet, and there have been sightings of the same man for centuries. Even the Muggles have spotted him. It would explain, Tom, why he has such a personal interest in you—he knows that you are his descendant, and he is naturally angry that you have found a way to rid yourself of Vetus Periculosus. He may even try to cast the curse on you again, if you are not careful."

"But this doesn't make any sense, sir!" Danielle protested, although it unfortunately did. "Why wasn't he around in my timeline, then? I'm sure that Voldemort would have announced something if he'd encountered him—"

"In your timeline, Tom was _not_ cured of Vetus Periculosus, hence there would be no reason for Salazar to step out of the shadows," Dumbledore answered. "But I am not finished my story. Salazar made two Horcruxes—both out of ordinary objects—and I have destroyed him both. He is fully aware that he is mortal now, and his soul is too old and too fragile for him to create another. He is being taken over by Vetus Periculosus himself now. I am not sure how he contracted it, although I suspect that when he created the curse, he accidentally inflicted it upon himself but his Horcruxes prevented it from worsening his condition. Now he wishes for the diadem. He is aware that Tom knows where it is, which is, I think, why he has been following him."

"But he knows that Tom _doesn't_ have it," Danielle argued. "He told Slytherin that you have it—"

Something very close to shock flashed through Dumbledore's eyes, but he managed to compose himself before speaking again. "Then I must take precautions to ensure he does not find me."

"What does Holstone have to do with any of this?" Tom spoke up; he'd been silent for most of the conversation. "I see no possible gain that he would have by working for Slytherin."

"I do not know that either, Mr Riddle," Dumbledore said. "I have told you all the information I possess. Now—"

But before he could finish his sentence, the tent flap opened and Georgina stuck her head in. "What are you doing in here?" she asked. "Everyone is saying goodbye to Alyssa and Alphard before they leave for Egypt."

Danielle cast a hopeless glance at Dumbledore, but it was too late: their conversation was over. Tom also refused to meet her eyes as they trudged over to Georgina. They had gotten their answers, but somehow Danielle felt that she had been more content when she'd known as little as possible.


	21. Limited Time

_Salazar Slytherin._ The name spun around Danielle's head for the rest of the night. She put on a cheerful face during the reception, and even joked with Alyssa before she and Alphard left on their honeymoon, but inside she was paralyzed with worry. Slytherin himself—Tom's ancestor—knew that Tom had cured himself of Vetus Periculosus and was aware that he had tried to create a Horcrux. Additionally, he had at least one of the Hallows and would stop at nothing to get the others.

"Oh, no," Danielle whispered to Tom as they watched Alyssa and Alphard walk arm-in-arm up to the hill where they would Disapparate. "I forgot to ask Dumbledore about the Hallows!"

Although Tom didn't outwardly react, she could see his eyes flicker around the crowd of guests, searching for him. But the Transfiguration professor seemed to have disappeared, along with Georgina, who had snuck out of Hogwarts for the occasion, carelessly throwing aside her Head Girl duties.

"I'll write to him tomorrow," she said with a heavy sigh. With a loud crack, Alyssa and Alphard Disapparated, drowning out the rest of her sentence.

"I presume this means we can leave now?" Tom asked sardonically, and Danielle nodded, turning away from the rest of the guests.

"I just hope they haven't taken all the things from our flat," she muttered. "I don't have enough money to afford new furniture." She and Tom slipped into a shadowy spot under one of the grand turrets of the manor, and they quietly Disapparated back to London, leaving a crowd of intoxicated party guests behind.

* * *

If any of the flat's tenants thought it odd that a middle-aged woman and an old man were dashing up the stairs to the seventh floor, neither seeming out of breath, they didn't let on. It was only belatedly that Danielle realized they didn't have a key, but of course Tom was able to open it (she suspected it was a spell that he had invented himself) which was just in time for both of them to change back into their normal selves. Danielle was more relieved than she probably should have been to see Tom as his usual self again—it had been very disconcerting seeing him as an elderly man… _unnatural_ , almost. Well, she supposed, considering his Horcrux, now it was.

To her great surprise, the flat was almost exactly as they'd left it—the furniture, kitchen utensils, and their bed were all untouched and relatively dust-free, as if they'd been gone days instead of months. "Do you think the Ministry even searched the flat at all?" Danielle asked as she sprawled out on the bed.

"Yes, but it appears they did not find anything worth taking," Tom replied. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror, as if determined to see that he had completely transformed back into his real self. "There were Tracking Charms placed on the furniture, but they have since been removed, proving Dumbledore's explanation that our names have been cleared."

Danielle knew she should feel relieved that they were no longer fugitives—but all she felt was that one small thing had been checked off their list of current problems. "I find it hard to believe that Holstone would be working for Slytherin," she mused. "He seemed more interested in getting Olive and I to work in the Time Room…making Time-Turners— _bloody hell!"_ Tom glanced over as she shot up, moving so fast that she tumbled right off the bed. "Time-Turners," Danielle repeated as she jumped up and stared across the room at him, barely seeming to notice that a bruise was forming on her shoulder. "What if it _wasn't_ a coincidence that Holstone had me working in the Time Room? What if he actually _does_ have proof that I'm a time-traveller and he's looking to change the future somehow?"

She expected Tom to look surprised, or at least even acknowledge that she had a point, but his face was disappointingly blank as he said, "That occurred to me yesterday when you mentioned Holstone. I would not be surprised if he has already traveled into the future and encountered you. Perhaps he has some form of evidence that he will use against you."

Danielle's blood ran cold. "Evidence?" she gulped. "Then why hasn't he used it against me yet? Surely he would have shown the Minister something—"

"Perhaps he is looking to go to the future again," Tom said, his voice perfectly clear of all emotion. "And if he does, you cannot do anything to stop him. This is why time should never be tampered with, Clara."

Danielle imagined she heard a silent accusation in his voice, and instead of arguing with him about it—because by now she could imagine exactly what he would say—she chewed on her lower lip anxiously, searching for answers. "But that still doesn't explain why he's working with Slytherin, unless they want to go to the _past_ , not the future, and find some way to preserve Slytherin's Horcruxes. Holstone strikes me as someone who doesn't do anything unless there's something in it for himself, and I don't see what he could possibly get out of that partnership…maybe Slytherin is teaching him Dark Magic?" She stared helplessly at Tom, utterly lost.

He stood up straighter, almost as if he was squaring his shoulders, and finally said, "Slytherin will turn up again eventually. Even if he has the Elder Wand, I know he will not kill me. He cannot kill his Heir." But Danielle wondered if he'd managed to convince himself of that. His eyes fixed on the Horcrux locket, and she was struck with the sudden idea that his opinion of his once-revered ancestor was beginning to change.

* * *

She fell asleep almost as soon as she went to bed that night, utterly exhausted. Her dreams were full of strange hooded figures and Holstone leering at her, wearing a Time-Turner around his neck. Danielle, in a shaky voice, demanded to know what they wanted with her, but neither of them ever spoke.

She woke up late the next morning—it was nearly noon by the time she finally dragged herself out of bed and went into the kitchen to make some breakfast—or rather, lunch—and saw that Tom was sitting at the table, intently studying the _Daily Prophet._ If she hadn't known him as well as she did, she would have thought she was only imagining the tightness in his posture and the ever-so-slight clenching of his fists. "What is it?" Danielle asked idly, reaching up into the cupboard to grab a slice of bread which was, miraculously, still fresh.

"Dumbledore is dead," Tom said through clenched teeth. He didn't look over at her.

Danielle dropped the slice of bread—it bounced onto the floor, where Ophelia immediately attacked it with glee, but she didn't move. " _What?_ " she choked, wondering if this was his idea of a joke.

Wordlessly, Tom shoved the paper over at her. Danielle grabbed it, feeling as if every organ in her body had shrunk as her eyes landed on a picture of Dumbledore on the front page, his eyes twinkling as he stared at the camera.

_**Transfiguration Professor and Order of Merlin Recipient, Albus Dumbledore, Found Dead** _

_The_ Prophet _can exclusively confirm that Albus Dumbledore, age sixty-four, has been confirmed dead after his body was found in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts last night. Officials believe that the Killing Curse was used on him, as a search of his body and the immediate area has so far yielded nothing. The Hogwarts Headmaster, Armando Dippet, is expected to make a statement later today. So far, inquiries and investigations are being carried out, although no definite answers have appeared so far. The funeral will be held at Hogwarts on the twelfth of December; anyone who wishes to may attend…_

The rest of the article detailed Dumbledore's early life and the various accomplishments he had achieved, but Danielle barely skimmed it. She let the newspaper fall from her hands, back onto the table, while the picture of Dumbledore smiled kindly up at her. "I can't believe it," she gasped. "We were talking to him just last night."

"I am certain this is Slytherin's work," Tom said darkly. "He knew that Dumbledore had the diadem."

"Because _you_ told him!" Danielle snapped. She sank into her chair and shoved the paper away from her as if it were poisonous. "Even Dumbledore couldn't stand a chance against the Elder Wand. Slytherin must have been biding his time at Hogwarts, waiting to catch Dumbledore alone…oh, Merlin. What am I going to do? It's my fault—I should have told him sooner. He did so much for me and I barely even thanked him…" Danielle trailed off, fighting back the tears. The outline of Tom sitting across from her blurred as water filled her eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently. She was entirely on her own now. The thought was too much to bear.

"Slytherin may have gotten the diadem as well," Tom was saying, making Danielle feel even worse. His detached, emotionless voice was so flat he may as well have been talking about the weather. "If what Dumbledore believed is true, he would have already cured himself of Vetus Periculosus and will create more Horcruxes. If he now owns all three Hallows, he may be even more powerful."

 _And we have to do something about it. We have to stop him, because he is somehow tied up with Holstone, and Holstone knows that I'm a time-traveller. If both Slytherin and Holstone have access to Time-Turners, they can alter the timeline in an infinite number of ways,_ Danielle thought. She gave a small gasp as she stared at Tom. What if they already _had_ altered the timeline, and any moment could be her last? What if they went to _her_ time and killed her as a baby, thus preventing her existence? She was liable to disappear at any moment. What would Tom do then?

But Danielle didn't voice these thoughts aloud; she was sure that Tom had already considered them. "So what are we going to do?" she asked. Her voice sounded as if she was hearing it from the opposite end of a long tunnel.

He looked squarely at her, a hard glint in his blue eyes. " _I_ am going to find Slytherin."

* * *

Danielle barely stopped crying during the next few days; she had never felt so completely and utterly _alone_. Even when she had been at her worst when she'd first been flung into 1942, even when she'd felt hopeless after Tom had been ill with the curse, Dumbledore had always been there, if not actively helping, then offering words of advice and comfort. Now that he was dead and gone, she felt as if she had lost herself.

Tom was angry as well, although he wasn't mourning Dumbledore's death, of course: he was furious that his search for the Hallows had, once again, proved fruitless. Danielle avoided speaking to him; she couldn't bear to hear his callous comments and his cruel remarks that would undoubtedly begin if she mentioned how upset she was that Dumbledore was dead. It was, after all, what Tom had wished from the moment he'd first met the man: it had just come at a most inopportune time.

Of course Danielle wasn't going to miss the funeral, and she had made arrangements to meet up with Dylan and Georgina while she was at Hogwarts. Part of her was secretly glad for an excuse to see the castle again, as it felt like it had been years she'd been away from it, not mere months.

On the morning of December the twelfth, she awoke early and came out of the bedroom wearing the plain black mourning dress she had bought at Madam Malkin's the day before. Tom was perusing _Hogwarts, A History_ in front of the fire and seemed barely to notice her as she approached.

"I suppose I'm going to the funeral on my own, then?" Danielle asked glumly, pocketing her wand and grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. She could Apparate if she wished, but she still wasn't comfortable Apparating long distances, so she had decided to Floo to Hogwarts instead and risk ruining her dress.

Tom nodded, finally glancing up at her over the pages of the book. "Even if Slytherin _did_ manage to obtain the diadem, I doubt that he is still at Hogwarts. He would have escaped as far away as possible before the investigation into Dumbledore's death begun."

Danielle gulped; she hadn't thought of that. "Maybe he'll leave you alone now that he has what he wants."

Tom looked exasperated. "Dumbledore said himself that Slytherin has a personal interest in me. I think it should be obvious that Holstone requires you for something as well. If anything, Clara, this is just the beginning."

* * *

The atmosphere at Hogwarts was a sombre one indeed as Danielle made her way through the corridors and the Grand Staircase, searching for Georgina. She had Floo'd straight into the Entrance Hall, as most of the other guests arriving for the funeral were doing—she was relieved to see that she hadn't been the only one who had chosen that particular method of transportation.

Luckily, she didn't have to wait long—Georgina was already standing in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, looking unusually serious. "I can't believe this is happening," she said as soon as Danielle was in earshot.

"I know," Danielle agreed. "I keep expecting Dumbledore to walk around the corner any moment."

"Dippet told me that the Ministry is going to rule it out as suicide," Georgina whispered as they started down the Grand Staircase, passing several wailing ghosts.

" _Suicide?"_ Danielle asked, flabbergasted. _"_ Why?"

"Oh, you know…he had a tragic past—his Squib sister, his father being sent to Azkaban, his friendship with Grindelwald…" Georgina waved a dismissive hand. "The _Prophet_ loves that sort of thing."

"His sister wasn't a Squib—" Danielle began indignantly, but Georgina shushed her.

"Yes, but no one _here_ knows that." Georgina looped her arm through Danielle's and led her outside, where a crowd was beginning to gather by the lake. Despite the dismal occasion, the sun shone brightly above them, the snow glistening like diamonds under their feet. A large white tomb lay in the centre of the crowd, next to which Danielle recognized the gray hair and steely eyes of the Minister for Magic himself, Lorcan McLaird. Her stomach gave a sudden drop, as if the ground had been pulled out from under her, and she quickly glanced away, allowing Georgina to lead her to her seat.

There appeared to be guests from every walk of life attending the funeral; Danielle heard at least ten different languages being spoken around her, and she could have sworn she saw a group of vampires and werewolves seated several rows away from them. Dumbledore, she thought, had a universal appeal. Perhaps the crowd wasn't as large as it would have been had he died a natural death decades later—or even when he'd died in _her_ timeline—but there had to be at least two or three hundred mourners.

"Hey," a voice hissed from the seat beside her. Danielle, still thinking of McLaird and cringing slightly, glanced over and saw Dylan, looking just as serious as Georgina. He looked even paler than usual in his dark suit and even his hair appeared to have lost some of its colour.

"Dylan," Danielle breathed, relishing in the warmth of a familiar face. "I feel as if I'm in a dream. This _can't_ be real."

"If it's a dream, it's definitely a vivid one," her friend said glumly, staring ahead at the tomb. "Merlin, this is surreal. Dumbledore dead…what could have possibly killed him?"

"Or why would he kill himself?" Georgina asked loudly from Danielle's other side, causing a group of gossiping witches to stare open-mouthed at them.

It was evident Dylan hadn't heard the rumours; even his freckles turned white. "If he killed himself…what could possibly be so horrible that he would want to escape from?"

The notion made Danielle feel even worse.

* * *

The funeral began shortly after that, with Dippet reciting a long-winded, gloomy speech about how he had been Dumbledore's mentor (As _if,_ Danielle thought furiously) and how he had given many students a love of Transfiguration and lemon drops. She was appalled; Dippet's speech made it sound like he was solely responsible for Dumbledore's accomplishments. Danielle's dislike of the Headmaster deepened even further, and she was forced to stop listening lest she jump up and scream at him. Her eyes wandered through the crowd—and to her horror she spotted a wretchedly familiar, sneering face standing a ways away from the group, a cruel grin on his face.

 _Holstone_.

For a moment, Danielle's mind went blank—she considered Disapparating on the spot to escape him, but it was likely that he hadn't seen her yet and so she settled for slumping down into her seat, staring unseeingly ahead of her. Her stomach jumped again as she realized that there was now a body lying in the tomb: Dumbledore lay very still, but there was an air about him that made Danielle wonder if he was just sleeping after all. He wore a long pair of magenta robes covered with stars, the same outfit he'd worn at Alyssa and Alphard's wedding, and his half-moon glasses were still perched crookedly on his nose. Danielle had to turn away from the sight and she felt tears spill over her eyes; Dylan squeezed her hand comfortingly but she could see that his posture was bent and rigid, as if he were trying not to cry as well. The loud sobs in the crowd didn't help, either, and Danielle reached up with her free hand to wipe the tears from her face, freezing in the winter air.

An enormous orange flame suddenly erupted over the tomb, and Danielle instantly thought of Holstone, but no one else had reacted: she presumed it was just part of the ceremony. Dumbledore's body had disappeared and the white tomb was now closed, sealing Danielle's greatest mentor away from her.

She felt as if a part of her heart had been blocked off as well: letting go of Dylan's hand, she stood up and quietly bid goodbye to him and a sobbing Georgina; she couldn't bear to look at the tomb any longer. Holstone had disappeared now, but she still felt unsettled, although she wondered if it hadn't just been her mind playing tricks on her.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she whirled around, prepared for a duel. But it was only McLaird: Danielle shied away from him, as if he were poisonous. But the expression on his face was very apologetic indeed. "Miss Clara Ashford," he began. "What a pleasure to see you again."

 _Oh, really?_ Danielle thought sarcastically, but didn't voice her thoughts out loud. Instead she said, "It's a pleasure to see you as well, sir."

McLaird looked almost sheepish. "I wish to apologize for my dreadfully foolish behaviour when we first met. I should not have let Vikram do such a thing—but rest assured that he is taken care of now."

Danielle thought of telling him that she had seen Holstone at the funeral, but kept her mouth shut. "Is he?" she asked vaguely, beginning to turn away. She wanted nothing to do with the Minister.

"Miss Ashford, please wait," said McLaird, and she reluctantly looked back at him. "I wish to speak to you about Dumbledore's will."

"His will?" she asked, uncomprehending.

The Minister nodded. "He has left two items to you, although he did not specify what they are." He reached into his robes and drew out two small objects wrapped in brown paper that reminded Danielle of the material Dumbledore had wrapped her Time-Turner in. "We have attempted to open them, but we were unsuccessful."

"They'll only open when the time is right," she whispered to herself, remembering his words to her three years previously. A tiny smile appeared on her face, and she slipped the two parcels into her robes. "Thank you, Minister."

McLaird looked expectant—he was obviously waiting for an explanation—but Danielle simply turned around and headed back up to the castle.

* * *

She was burning with curiosity when she arrived back at the flat. Tom was still sitting in the same armchair as before, although now he was holding a book on Ancient Runes. "I saw Holstone," Danielle said immediately, shaking the soot off her dress and plopping down into the chair across from him.

Tom was instantly alert. "What happened?"

"Nothing, and I'm not even sure if he saw me, but it was still unnerving all the same. Just before I left the Minister gave me these—" she pulled out the two packages, "—and said that Dumbledore had left them in his will."

Tom reached over to take one of them, and to Danielle's great surprise it began to open itself in his lap, neatly unfolding to reveal the shiny gold and bright sapphire of Ravenclaw's diadem. He glanced up at Danielle's, his expression suddenly wary. "Why would he leave you the diadem?"

Danielle shook her head in astonishment. "I have no idea. We have to hide it somehow—"

"Obviously," he drawled, twirling it around his fingers. "What about the other parcel?"

At his words, the brown package in Danielle's hands began to unwrap itself, and when she saw a glimpse of velvet she gasped, lifting the Invisibility Cloak and holding it up in front of her. Tom's expression was unabashedly greedy as he stared at it.

"Hang on…" Danielle mumbled; a small piece of parchment had fallen through the folds of the Cloak and landed on her arm. She read the twelve words written in Dumbledore's refined script aloud:

"' _I do not know where the Stone is, and neither does he.'_ How did Dumbledore know you were looking for the Deathly Hallows?" Danielle gasped.

"He must have seen Slytherin with the Elder Wand and deduced that I knew he possessed it as well," Tom said slowly. "That is certainly…interesting."

"So what are we going to do now?" Danielle asked. "Slytherin is going to want the Invisibility Cloak, if he already used the diadem. But wouldn't _he_ have the diadem if he stole it from Dumbledore?"

Tom shook his head but didn't answer, deep in thought. The sapphire in the diadem glinted against his hand, and Danielle was suddenly reminded of Dumbledore's tomb, how fragile the wizard had seemed and the thought that with a well-aimed curse, _she_ could die as well, forever lost…The stress of the afternoon and the uncertainty that raged through her brain fueled her next statement, and she was no less shocked when she heard herself saying it for a second time. "Fine, I'll marry you."

He slowly looked up at her, mingled confusion and amusement evident on his features. There was a long silence, and just as Danielle was about to explain he said, "Those should be _my_ words, Clara, not yours. I was not the one who originally asked."

"Fine, fine, whatever," she said angrily, feeling herself blush. "But I'm serious this time. I want to marry you, Tom Riddle. I don't know how long it's going to be before I die, but unlike you, I'm mortal and I have limited time. I don't want to spend the rest of my life living like this, playacting at being a couple. You've already said that you would marry me—I don't care if it's just _convenience_ on your part. I've known for a long time that I'm going to stay with you until I die, and this is all I ask for."

Tom stared at her for an even longer time, his face perfectly blank. Danielle's heart was pounding and she was leaning forward as if his answer would mean life or death—and then she saw the tiniest of smirks cross his face. "Despite the… _unconventionality_ of it all," he answered, his voice heavy with irony, "Yes, Clara. I will marry you."


	22. Emerging Hope

The weeks following Dumbledore's funeral seemed almost dreamlike to Danielle, and she felt as if she was a marionette whose strings had been cut loose, leaving her to float aimlessly with no direction. Dumbledore had been her mentor, her guide, for so long that now she was realizing just how integral he had been.

When her initial shock and grief had passed, and it began to sink in that Dumbledore was well and truly gone, Danielle began to feel the stirrings of anger. Dumbledore had _known_ her situation, _known_ how lost she would be without him. How dare he put himself into a position to leave her like this! It didn't help that the _Daily Prophet_ was implying that his death had been a suicide (reasons unknown) as Georgina had said. Sometimes Danielle wondered if he wasn't _really_ dead, if he hadn't staged it in order to fool Slytherin…but then she remembered seeing his body, looking so frail and lifeless in the tomb, and the terrible truth came crashing over her again: Dumbledore was dead, she was completely alone, and the only other person who could understand her situation was hundreds of miles away in Hogwarts. Danielle didn't attempt to contact Georgina, aside from several brief letters—they'd already broken the rules enough times and Danielle wasn't sure how much longer her luck would hold.

Neither she nor Tom had mentioned a wedding or, indeed, even the fact that they were engaged. It was obvious that he wasn't planning on marrying anytime soon and Danielle, for her part, found that she didn't mind. The horror surrounding Dumbledore's death was overshadowing everything else in her life.

But even though she knew that they had the Cloak and the diadem, her worries weren't alleviated one bit. Surely Slytherin wanted the Cloak, since Danielle assumed that he wished to become the new Master of Death, and if he ever found out that Dumbledore had left it to them—and Danielle was sure he eventually would—she would be in very grave danger. As it was, however, Tom had hidden the diadem and Cloak safely away, and even Danielle didn't know where they were.

Although she knew, logically, that Dumbledore was dead, it didn't completely sink in until Christmas Eve, twelve days after the funeral. Danielle was leaning out of the window, waiting for Alistair to swoop back in, and staring out at the snowy streets, when she caught sight of a bright red speck in the distance—the only colour against the endless sea of white. Danielle leaned farther out of the window, trying to get a closer look. She could see the witches and wizards in Diagon Alley staring and pointing at it. Danielle's first, irrational thought was that it was some sort of scarlet owl or exotic bird—but as it flew closer she saw that it was heading straight for her. Danielle yelped and ducked out of the way just as it swooped into the room, barely managing to fit through the window—its wingspan must have been at least ten feet.

A blast of freezing air blew in with it and Danielle quickly jumped up to shut the window, shooting an embarrassed grin to the witches and wizards staring in shock at her. She whirled back around to see the huge, brilliantly coloured bird was none other than Fawkes the phoenix, perching on Alistair's stand and looking unruffled. At Danielle's incredulous stare, he let out a soft cry, looking back at her with unusually intelligent eyes.

It took Danielle a moment to process the fact that a _phoenix_ had just flown into the flat, and another to realize that if Dumbledore's phoenix had come to her, he was definitely gone. She took a deep breath and asked him, "What are you doing here?"

Of course Fawkes didn't answer, but Danielle had the strange feeling that he could understand what she was saying. "Did Dumbledore send you?" she tried, but Fawkes only tucked his head under his wing and fell asleep without another sound. He looked rather ill as well, meaning it was close to his Burning Day. The last thing she needed was for Tom to come back and find a pile of ashes on the floor.

Just as Danielle was about to fetch a towel in case Fawkes _did_ decide to burst into flames, the front door opened and Tom stepped in, his dark hair covered in snow. As he unbuttoned his coat with long, pale fingers, his eyes moved from Danielle to Fawkes, raising one elegant eyebrow. "Dumbledore's phoenix?" he asked, walking over to examine him. Fawkes' eyes opened and he made a low, trilling noise that sounded almost like a purr, arching his neck up to Tom's hand.

"Why is he here?" Danielle asked in astonishment. "Surely he can't be _ours_ —phoenixes only have one master their entire lives."

"Perhaps he is bound to me now," Tom suggested, taking a step back. Fawkes' keen eyes watched his every move. "After all, my wand contained his tail feather, and he is the only known phoenix to have given his feathers for that purpose."

"But you don't have your wand anymore," Danielle pointed out. She glanced over at Ophelia, who was watching the newcomer suspiciously.

"That does not matter," Tom said shortly. He finally broke his gaze away from Fawkes and turned away, looking instead at Danielle. "I am not taking care of three animals."

" _You?_ " she demanded. "Since when did Alistair and Ophelia become _your_ responsibility? You act as if they're not even around. Must I remind you that this is _my_ flat, bought with my _own_ money? I can force you to leave if you want—oh, Merlin," she groaned, sinking down into the armchair, "I sound like my father."

It was rare that she spoke about her family, and Tom was instantly paying attention. Danielle knew that he had delved into her mind more than once—most likely when she was asleep—attempting to dig out crucial information about Voldemort or what _her_ future had been like. When he had ascertained that she wasn't going to say anything more, he ghosted over to her and stared down at her slumped form, his expression inscrutable. "Your father?" he asked, quietly, carefully.

"Whenever my brother or I tried to argue with him, he would always say that we lived in his house so we had to follow his rules." Danielle sighed and tried to push away the kind, open face of Mr Bailey—the face that seemed to become less recognizable every day. Sometimes she awoke with a start in the middle of the night and found that she couldn't remember facts about her family that she'd previously taken for granted—her brother's laugh, for instance, or the warm smile of her mother. She knew that she would never be able to see her family again, save for miraculously finding a Time-Turner, but even if she had the chance, she wouldn't take it—she had altered the timeline in so many ways that it was likely her family wouldn't recognize her anymore, if she even still existed at all. Would she have a clone of sorts, or would there just be a space in the family where she used to exist? The terrible notion was too painful to think about, so Danielle had buried it deep down and refused to think about it. But during certain moments like this, the truth would come bubbling back up to the surface again, as all repressed truths eventually did, and she would feel physically ill.

Now, snapping back to reality, she stared into Tom's eyes—he looked curious, but she knew him well enough to realize that the emotion he was displaying was just a façade—and wondered why he was suddenly so interested. He had only asked about her family once—shortly after she had told him the truth about who she was—and even then she suspected it had just been forced politeness. Similarly, she could count on one hand the number of times he had called her 'Danielle', and they had always been out of anger or mockery. To him, she would always be Clara Ashford. The thought gave her an odd swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she had to admit—though with no small amount of guilt—that she didn't mind it at all. She, for all intents and purposes, _was_ Clara Ashford now. So why was she still clinging on to her old identity?

"I should think it obvious. You have not had closure," Tom said, and with a start Danielle realized that she must have been voicing her thoughts aloud.

"Huh?" she asked in her usual ineloquent manner, staring blankly at him.

"With your family," he said disparagingly, looking annoyed as usual at her unbelievable thickness. "You are still clinging on to their memories, and with that you will never be able to fully adapt to this time."

Danielle sat back in her chair and regarded Fawkes thoughtfully—Tom _did_ have a point. The phoenix gave a soft cry as a tiny grey owl—Alistair—flew into the room and began to squawk angrily, unhappy at having his favourite spot already occupied. Ophelia began to chatter in annoyance at the noise, but Danielle was used to the animals' bickering and so was able to tune it out as she considered Tom's words. If she _was_ somehow able to see her family one last time, to apologize to them and beg for forgiveness, some of her guilt would lessen and she would feel like she was free to fully become Clara Ashford without clinging on to her past life. But that was foolish to even think about—there was no possible way she would be able to see Andy or her parents again without time-travelling, and that was out of the question. It would be nice if she could use the Resurrection Stone, but she doubted that would work since they weren't technically _dead_ in this timeline…but—perhaps there _was_ someone she could talk to…

"Dumbledore!" Danielle gasped, sitting up straighter in her chair. "If we found the Resurrection Stone, we could speak to him and find out what really happened!"

Tom nodded, looking rather exasperated at her sudden change of topic. "The only problem now is _finding_ it," he said sarcastically. "I do not suppose you have thought of anything?"

Danielle ignored his jibe, continuing to think out loud. "We know where two of the Hallows are, and we actually _have_ one. Slytherin might know where the Stone is, and if anyone can find out how much he knows it will be you…but I don't want you to go after him—you don't know how powerful he is…"

"According to Dumbledore, he had greatly weakening strength," Tom mused, standing up and beginning his usual pacing around the room. "He did not appear to be particularly strong when I encountered him. That does not make sense when taken into consideration with Dumbledore's death. He was a very… _powerful_ wizard," he admitted reluctantly, "And he would not have been killed so easily if Slytherin was weakening."

"Maybe he got the diadem before he found Dumbledore?" Danielle asked, but Tom looked doubtful. She resisted the urge to growl in frustration; there were so many pieces of the puzzle they didn't have, and likely never would.

* * *

Danielle hadn't put up a Christmas tree or, indeed, any sorts of decorations around the flat. She didn't want to celebrate, not after everything that had been going on, and declined an invitation to eat at the MacDougals' for Christmas dinner. Alyssa and Alphard had recently arrived back from Egypt, and Danielle wasn't sure she could stand hours of the newlywed couple staring into each other's eyes and snuggling while she and Tom pointedly looked away from each other. Nevertheless, by the next afternoon Danielle was wishing she had taken Alyssa up on her offer; at least the MacDougals' house would have been cheery and festive.

Tom, of course, hadn't gotten her any sort of present—he never did—but Danielle took it upon herself to give _him_ a gift. It wasn't very much—in fact, it was all she had—but it was the best she could do.

"Happy Christmas," she told him, perching on the arm of his chair and dropping a small bag into his lap. Tom, who had been perusing the _Daily Prophet_ as he so often did, glanced up at her suspiciously. When she merely smiled at him, he reluctantly picked it up and shook out a handful of Galleons.

"It's for your new wand," she said. "I don't want you using mine for the rest of my life, after all."

"Where did you get the money from?" Tom asked, his expression unreadable.

Danielle was momentarily surprised at his concern, but recovered herself quickly enough to say, "It's actually the last of my wages from September. I went to Gringotts earlier today…I have nothing left in my vault." She tried to stop herself from saying the next part, but before she could change the subject she blurted out, "I don't know how I'm going to pay the rent for this flat. I was thinking my last resort would be asking Alyssa or Dylan for money—I know they would help me—but I don't want their pity." Tom could surely understand that.

He was silent for a long moment, pouring the coins back into the bag. "You do not need to worry about that," he finally said. "I will take care of it—"

"No!" Danielle protested. "I don't want you stealing it or Confounding some poor witch or wizard. I want to earn it honestly. I'm going to start looking for a job after the holidays. Maybe Aldwinkle can give me my job back at Flourish & Blotts."

"But that is not enough to keep this flat," Tom pointed out. He still wasn't looking at her.

Danielle sighed heavily, feeling her shoulders slump. "I know," she said despondently. "I'll have to figure something out." But she knew she could no longer lie to herself; she was completely stuck.

* * *

A particularly terrible blizzard struck London several days after Christmas; it was powerful enough to shut down the shops in Diagon Alley and Danielle was hesitant to even leave their building—she preferred to stay under the covers with a cup of hot cocoa and a book—so Tom wasn't able to get his new wand until New Year's Eve—his nineteenth birthday. Danielle knew he cared for his birthday even less than he did about Christmas, and was tactful enough not to mention it.

They had lunch at one of the numerous cafes scattered around Diagon Alley—a small pub with excellent food; Danielle was secretly relieved she didn't have to cook since she was horrible at it and Tom had told her as much—before heading off to Ollivander's. When Danielle had been an excited eleven-year-old eager to go to Hogwarts, the old wizard had terrified her with his strange mumblings and sudden appearances out of nowhere. She was more than slightly disappointed to find that this was still the case, and she jumped when he came ambling about from behind one of the towering shelves stuffed with wand cases; she'd called out for him thirty seconds before and there had been no response, so she had guessed that he wasn't there.

"Ah, yes, what I can help you two with?" Ollivander asked, walking slowly over to Tom and Danielle, surveying both of them closely. "You both seem rather old to be purchasing your first wands…"

"His was…broken…and he's looking for a new one," Danielle offered after Tom did not speak first; she could already sense he didn't like the old man.

"Very well," Ollivander mumbled, but he had barely looked at Tom. He was instead staring down at Danielle's wand, which she held in her right hand.

Before Danielle could stop him, he had grabbed her wand and was examining it. "Curious," he muttered to himself. "I have never sold a wand like this before…yet it has my mark…"

She gave a helpless look over at Tom, who cleared his throat and was about to make a clever excuse, when Ollivander shrugged and gave her back her wand. "I will not ask you," he said kindly. "It is not my place. Yet…eleven inches, cedar, unicorn hair, surprisingly swishy. A fairly unusual wand, so for that I am not surprised. Witches who carry a cedar wand have strength of character and unwavering loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, always used to say, 'you will never fool the cedar carrier,' and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond." His eyes briefly flickered over to Tom. "The wizard (or witch in this case) who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them."

"Thank you, sir," Danielle began to say, but Ollivander wasn't finished. "Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard. Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may 'die' and need replacing. I am not surprised that it is surprisingly swishy, one of the most pliant wands around. You have been through a lot of change in your life, and you adapt well to it, which is excellent."

Without missing a beat, he turned to Tom, seemingly recognizing him instantly. "Tom Riddle…" he mused. "Yes, it is a shame you do not have your original wand anymore, as it was very, very rare. Thirteen and a half inches, yew, phoenix feather, unyielding. Strange…"

"What is it, sir?" Tom asked politely.

"Yew and phoenix feather is a very odd combination for a wand. Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses. However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. The witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others. Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner's grave. What is certain, in my experience, is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner.

"Phoenix feather wands are the rarest core type—they are the pickiest when it comes to their owners. In conclusion, Mr Riddle, your first wand was very unusual, but the core and the wood, when joined, produced an extraordinarily powerful wand. It is a shame that it is now destroyed…a wizard's first wand will always be the strongest, but I am certain I can find you another suitable wand." Ollivander turned back around to the shelf of wands, resuming his indecipherable murmuring to himself and surveying each box carefully without touching them, as if he'd memorized every single one—Danielle wouldn't be at all surprised if he had. Tom was looking very annoyed now, and she had to shoot him a pleading look, hoping he wouldn't jinx or somehow curse Ollivander. She wondered if he'd been this impatient and intolerant when he was eleven—at any rate, Ollivander didn't seem too surprised.

"Ah, here we are!" the wandmaker exclaimed several minutes later; he had unearthed a box from one of the very top piles. The other boxes wobbled precariously but didn't fall. Ollivander stepped carefully down from the stepladder and presented the box to Tom with a flourish, as if he were giving him an award. "Thirteen and a half inches—the same length as your previous wand—hawthorn and dragon heartstring."

Tom reached out and took the wand, closing his fingers around it. Danielle knew that it often took many tries for the wand to choose the wizard—it had taken _her_ nearly an hour in the shop before she'd tried her current wand—but the wand in Tom's hand suddenly lit up with a bright glow, and a shower of gold sparks erupted from the tip.

Ollivander looked positively delighted. "That has never yet happened in my lifetime," he breathed, seeming fascinated. "It is almost unheard of that a wand chooses the wizard on his first try…that is something very special, Mr Riddle. But I would expect no less from you. The wandmaker Gregorovitch wrote that hawthorn 'makes a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.' While I disagree with many of Gregorovitch's conclusions, we concur about hawthorn wands, which are complex and intriguing in their natures, just like the owners who best suit them. Hawthorn wands may be particularly suited to healing magic, but they are also adept at curses, and I have generally observed that the hawthorn wand seems most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil. Hawthorn is not easy to master, however, and I would only ever consider placing a hawthorn wand in the hands of a witch or wizard of proven talent, or the consequences might be dangerous. Hawthorn wands have a notable peculiarity: their spells can, when badly handled, backfire.

As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn quicker than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner."

Tom's irritation had turned to smugness at Ollivander's words, and Danielle rolled her eyes behind his back as he went up to the counter to pay for it. At least she didn't need to worry about finding _her_ wand gone whenever he left the flat anymore—but now, she thought as she watched Ollivander take her last remaining Galleons—they were penniless.

* * *

After they had returned to their flat, Tom waited until Clara was preoccupied with feeding her pets before quietly pulling on his coat and leaving again—he was confident that she would not call after him; she was surely used to his sudden absences by now. She might question where he had gone when he arrived back, but it would be simple enough to distract her—all he had to do was kiss her and she would come apart under his fingers, all of her questions forgotten.

Tom had to admit that he was satisfied with his new wand—it wasn't as powerful or as unique as his old one, but it would do for now, at least until he possessed the Elder Wand. It radiated a pleasant warmth through his gloved fingers—something that Clara's wand had never done—as he headed through the swirling snow toward the Ministry of Magic. When Clara had mentioned that she was completely out of money, Tom had had an idea that he was certain would work and prove to be extremely beneficial. He wasn't bothered at all by their shortage of money; it would be all too simple for him to figure out a loophole in _Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration_ and obtain it that way. However, he was aware that Clara would refuse to take the money if she suspected that he had gotten it illegally. Tom supposed he could cast a Memory Charm on her, but it would be rather time-consuming creating an elaborate lie and the consequences would be disastrous if she ever found out. No, there was a much simpler way that would enable him to discover useful information and keep Clara happy—or as happy as she could be with that irritating old man dead.

It was all too simple to enter the Ministry and slip unnoticed through its newly-enacted security measures to McLaird's office. Tom was pleased to find that his new wand was proving itself up to the task as he cast the Imperius Curse on several of the guards, carefully covering his tracks, and finally reached the door to the Minister's office himself. Tom had never met the Minister of Magic before, and he was sure he would like him even less than Clara did.

The door swung open a moment later, revealing a stout wizard with greying hair and a frazzled expression. "How did you get up here?" he asked, pointing his wand at Tom; smoke rings were wafting from the end of it.

"I wished to see you, Minister," Tom said quietly, inclining his head and avoiding the question. "My name is Tom Riddle."

McLaird blanched—evidently he was not happy in the least. "Well, I have a very busy schedule, you know," he muttered, but there was a half-finished slice of cake on the desk and the wireless, which was playing a merry jazz song, was turned up to full volume. "Did Albus not inform you that you and Miss Ashford were cleared of all charges?"

"He did," replied Tom, taking a step toward McLaird and smiling as graciously as he could. "But I just wished to ask you—I am so grateful that you changed your mind—Clara and I are both out of jobs, you see, and merely working in Diagon Alley will not help pay for our flat."

" _Our_ flat?" McLaird echoed, frowning distrustfully as he switched off the wireless. "Are you two living together?"

Tom nodded. "We are also recently engaged. I cannot even buy her a ring." This was a lie—Tom had no intention of ever buying Clara a ring, whether they were married or not—but of course McLaird didn't know that. He could almost see the Minister's face soften, but when Tom tried to enter his mind he found a block, as if McLaird was using very powerful Occlumency. It was logical that the Minister would be an adept Occlumens, but even so Tom found himself frustrated that he couldn't use one of his most reliable methods of procuring information.

"That is certainly upsetting," McLaird said. "But what is it that you wish to see me about? I am afraid that the Ministry cannot give you compensation for your time in Azkaban, wrongful though it was—"

"I do not wish to receive compensation," Tom interrupted. "Clara wants to begin work at the Ministry again, and I admit that I am… _interested_ to know what a job for me would entail."

"You are wishing for a job?" McLaird repeated, although it was a rhetorical question—he knew exactly what Tom was asking. Tom prepared to cast the Imperius Curse on him as well, but as it turned out he didn't need to, for the Minister immediately replied, "Very well. I can request that Miss Ashford work in the Time Room again…and as for you, Mr Riddle, is there anywhere you wish to work? I am afraid you cannot be more than an intern in the Department of Mysteries, but perhaps if you prove yourself—"

Tom had done his research and knew exactly what each of the chambers in the Department of Mysteries contained—or were reported to contain. His answer was already on the tip of his tongue even before McLaird had finished speaking. "I would very much like to work in the Death Chamber… _sir."_

* * *

Another snowstorm blanketed the city the following day, and it took Danielle half an hour to clean off the snow from the flat's windows, and another fifteen minutes to dry her robes off after Alistair, who was very grumpy now that he had to share a perch with Fawkes, returned back home after a morning of hunting and dropped a pile of snow on her. Danielle didn't expect any sane person to be out in a blizzard like the one that was currently raging outside, and she couldn't be blamed for being startled when there was a knock at the front door.

"Who is it?" she asked Tom, her hand reaching for her wand. "Alyssa and Dylan would Floo in here if they wanted to talk to me and I doubt Slytherin would just waltz into the building and knock—"

"How about you try _opening_ it?" he asked, thoroughly disinterested.

Danielle hesitated, not wanting to betray any sign of disquiet but knowing that Tom would be better able to defend himself if it _was_ an enemy. "You're closer to the door," she told him, feeling as if she were five years old again and arguing with her brother.

Now he looked up at her, exasperated as usual. "It is _your_ flat, as you seem to enjoy reminding me on a daily basis."

Knowing she was caught, Danielle walked quietly over to the door and opened it a crack, steeling herself for a confrontation. She definitely did not expect to see Lorcan McLaird standing on the other side, twisting his pointed hat in his hands as if he were agitated. "Minister," she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

Now it was the Minister's turn to look startled. "You mean you do not know? Your fiancé came to visit me yesterday requesting jobs for both of you."

" _Did_ he?" Danielle asked, glaring over at Tom, who was the picture of surprised innocence.

"Have you made a decision yet, sir?" Tom asked, not meeting her eyes. He sounded exactly like he did when he spoke to Dippet—Danielle was so unused to hearing him charm someone else that she'd almost forgotten how brilliant he was at it.

"I have," McLaird replied. "I believe that since I have previously wronged both of you terribly, you deserve a chance to work at the Department of Mysteries as Unspeakables. I will allow you to work there on six months' probation, and if you prove yourselves I will hire you full-time. This way you will be able to keep your flat."

Danielle's mouth was open in shock. She couldn't believe that the Minister was letting two teenagers—who had both spent time in Azkaban, no less—was offering them the chance to work in the Department of Mysteries…especially _Tom_ , who McLaird knew full well had murdered Abraxas Malfoy three months before. What was he playing at? "That's very generous, sir," she managed to stutter. "Tom must have done an excellent job convincing you to give us another chance."

"I felt that it was only fair, since it is my fault that you are penniless now," McLaird sighed. "Mr Riddle was very distraught that he couldn't even afford an engagement ring for you."

"Yes, it is quite sad," Danielle said without missing a beat. "But that was the least of my worries—I was more concerned about what to do when the baby arrives."

" _Baby?_ " snarled Tom, and he actually stood up, glaring at her stomach as if it had suddenly expanded in the past second. McLaird's eyes widened, and he coughed awkwardly, muttering, "Congratulations."

Danielle made sure to take a moment to relish the look on Tom's face before turning back to the Minister and saying, "That was a joke—I swear I'm not pregnant."

She had never seen McLaird look so relieved that he wouldn't have to bear witness to Tom's reaction. "Well, then, that's settled," he announced, placing his hat back on his head. "You and Mr Riddle can begin your jobs tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp, whether or not the snow lets up. You will be paid the same salary as you were before, and with the dual income you should soon be able to afford a house."

"We really appreciate it, Minister," Danielle said, and her tone was sincere. McLaird informed them that they were to attend a meeting with him when they arrived at the Ministry the next day before quickly leaving the flat, apparently eager to leave as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Danielle whirled around to face Tom, who was still looking irate. "I'm _not_ pregnant," she said again, hoping that her fervent tone would be enough to convince him. "Nor do I plan to be. But that's beside the point—why did you ask McLaird for a job? And dare I ask how exactly you managed to get him to agree to this?"

"He was disappointingly easy to coerce," Tom replied, slowly sitting back down in his chair. "Working at the Ministry will surely be beneficial to discovering either Slytherin's or Holstone's locations and perhaps their intentions. If Slytherin had Holstone working in the Ministry, it is likely that he has other spies there as well. "

Whether or not he had planned it as a favour to her, Danielle was nonetheless enormously relieved. She would have something to occupy her time with, and she could work in the Time Room without having to spend eight hours under Holstone's hawk-like stare. Most importantly, she would have a source of income again and she wouldn't have to worry about losing the flat. Feeling a grin spread across her face, she went over to Tom and curled up in his lap, snatching the book out of his hands and tossing it to the ground before kissing him as fiercely as she could. His hands moved up to tangle in her hair, and although Alistair was squawking loudly as he tried to chase Fawkes off his perch, neither Danielle nor Tom paid him any attention. Tom was finally in her reach and responding just as willingly to her advances, and Danielle didn't plan on letting go of him for the rest of the day.


	23. The Professor's Imposter

It seemed to Danielle as though every time she believed she was free of Olive Hornby forever, the girl kept popping back up like a rather calamitous case of spattergroit. If the situation wasn't so tragically ironic, Danielle would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

It was a bitterly cold day in the middle of February—shortly after Valentine's Day; Danielle was grateful that the Ministry didn't celebrate _that_ holiday—and she was currently up to her ears in paperwork (her new job was only slightly more interesting than what Holstone had made her do: she had to keep track of the people who were currently in possession of a Time-Turner and monitor their use of it) when her office door burst open and an unpleasantly familiar mane of mahogany hair attached to a tall, slim body strode in. Danielle blinked in shock as Olive stopped in front of her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hello, Ashford," she said snidely. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Five months, if I remember correctly," Danielle stuttered, shoving the pile of papers to the side and staring up at Olive. "Forgive me, but may I ask what _exactly_ you are doing in my office?"

Olive snorted. "So _now_ you're being polite?" Not waiting for Danielle's answer, she continued, "I have some information for you if you'd like to do something for me in return."

Danielle raised her eyebrows and sat back in her chair. "What could _I_ possibly do for _you?_ "

Something like desperation sparked in the other girl's eyes. "You're the only one who can help me," she said, trying to make her voice even. "Believe me, I don't want to be here, either."

Danielle hesitated, thinking her next words over very carefully before speaking again: she knew she had to tread cautiously. "What sort of… _information_ can you give me? And how can I be sure it is correct?" _Merlin, I sound like Tom,_ she thought with a start; it wasn't a particularly pleasant realization.

"It's about who Holstone really is," Olive replied; her mouth curled up in a twisted, victorious smile as Danielle let out an involuntary jerk. "You want to get to the bottom of that, don't you? I have no idea _why_ you would, but I've learned some very… _curious_ information about him."

"What do you mean, _who_ Holstone really is?" Danielle asked, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

"You heard what I said," Olive snapped. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"Why should I trust _you?_ How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

Olive let out a noise that reminded Danielle of Alistair's annoyed squawk. "Remember last September when I said that my father would let me quit if I discovered why Holstone was acting so strange? Well, I never found out why he _hired_ us, but I did discover something else that was even more valuable. I told Father, and he actually forced me to quit when he learned what Holstone had done…but he can't say anything to the Ministry or else Holstone will go after him."

Now Danielle was intrigued; she forgot to adopt her usual cold tone when she spoke to Olive and leaned forward, cupping her chin with both hands. "Does this have to do with why Holstone was…er…sacked?" she asked as delicately as she could.

Olive looked surprised in spite of herself. "He was sacked? Father told me that he had quit…but I guess that does make sense. It was only a matter of time before he let something slip."

Danielle often had to keep reminding herself that the Ministry was trying to keep the events that had occurred the previous autumn as quiet as possible, so the general public had no idea that Holstone had been fired for sending her to Azkaban, or that she and Tom had been fugitives. "Fine, Olive," she relented. "You have me intrigued. I know you're going to tell the truth, since there's no benefit in you lying—if this information is really as valuable as you say it is, I could tell the Minister about your false accusations against a former employee and you would have to stand trial. So consider me accepting the terms of your agreement. What is it you want me to do?"

Olive looked taken aback; Danielle's brisk, businesslike tone was one she rarely employed. Although she had only been working at the Ministry for a month and a half, she was already beginning to sound like a true Unspeakable; getting the bottom of matters straight away and not beating around the bush. After another second of uncertainty, she said, "I want you to find some way to get that damned ghost away from me—she's been following me everywhere and I can't get a moment's peace."

"Ghost?" Danielle asked in confusion. "What makes you think I'd be able to convince a ghost—"

"Not just _any_ ghost, _your_ pudgy little friend Myrtle!" Olive spat, suddenly reverting back to the girl Danielle was familiar with. "You're the only person she ever listened to. Find some way to get her away from me."

"Oh, dear," Danielle replied, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. "That _is_ a problem, isn't it? Why don't you just tell the Ministry?"

"I _tried_ ," Olive growled, her face bright red now, "But they don't believe me. She always runs back to Hogwarts when they come to investigate my house." Danielle imagined a wildly cackling Myrtle floating over Olive's head as she was trying to sleep and suppressed another giggle. "Besides," Olive continued, looking very upset, "She scares Jasper."

"Jasper?" Danielle asked in spite of herself. "Is he…is he your son?"

Olive nodded. "What, you thought I would actually abandon him?" she asked, sounding almost offended.

"Actually, yes—"

"—He lived with my brother until his second birthday and then I got him back at Christmas." Olive sniffed, as if he had been an unwanted present that she was unable to return.

Jasper, Danielle thought, was a most unusual pureblood name—but then again, 'Alyssa' and 'Dylan' were hardly pureblood names either. And she had to admit Olive did look slightly concerned that her son was scared by Myrtle. At any rate, Danielle really had nothing to lose: she would be able to get information about Holstone and see Hogwarts again. "Sure, Olive," she said, though it wasn't without a long-suffering air. "I'll do it."

* * *

She didn't get the chance to tell Tom where she was going that afternoon—it was rare that she got to see him at all during the day, despite the fact they both worked in the Department of Mysteries. They were technically forbidden from even telling each _other_ what they did, even though they were both Unspeakables, but Danielle gathered that Tom had been put to work doing much the same as what she did: paperwork. If he'd had any delusions about being given the power of life and death while working in the Death Chamber, he'd been sorely mistaken. While Danielle's job was to keep track of the Ministry-approved Time-Turners, Tom had to keep records on the deaths of witches and wizards and their causes so that the Ministry could investigate any unusual goings-on. But, although their jobs were both fairly dull, they were helping to pay for their flat and now, with Tom's salary added to the mix, they even had some extra money. Danielle hoped to move to a larger flat, or even a house, someday, and at the rate they were going it should only take a couple of years before they were able to afford a house.

Despite his confidence that he would be able to find more information about Holstone and Salazar Slytherin once he had a job at the Ministry, Tom did not appear to be succeeding—or, if he was, he wasn't telling her about it. Danielle suspected that it was frustrating for him, especially since he had spent his years at Hogwarts being able to charm anyone he wished and obtaining whatever information he needed from them. Here, in the Ministry, people were not so quick to fall for a handsome smile or a mask of politeness, and it would be much more difficult for Tom to cast an Imperius Curse and stay undiscovered. But Tom was patient, and Danielle was certain she would have cracked long ago if she were him. As it was, however, she found herself wondering exactly _why_ Slytherin was lying low and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Had he cured himself with the diadem and couldn't be bothered with the other Hallows? Was he busy creating more Horcruxes? What had happened to Holstone? These were the questions that now plagued Danielle; the anticipation, she was sure, was worse than the actual occurrence.

It appeared that a wedding was still not in the works for them: no discussion of the matter had ever been brought up at all, though Danielle knew that was just because Tom was waiting for her to broach the subject first. Well, that wasn't going to happen—he needed to learn that she could be stubborn too, when she felt like it. But even so, Danielle privately wished that she could just swallow her pride and head up to one of the other Ministry departments to take a license. All they needed were their signatures and two witnesses present. Alyssa and Dylan or Alphard and Alyssa would certainly be more than happy to bear witness, although Alyssa had told Danielle that Dylan had moved out of MacDougal Manor—no word on whether it had anything to do with Felicity or not. Additionally, Alyssa and Alphard were preparing to move into a house of _their_ own as well, so even if she decided to get married tomorrow Danielle wasn't even certain if the witnesses were able to be present. Part of her was still ecstatic, even two months later, that Tom had agreed to it, but the other part just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Danielle sent a Patronus to Georgina letting her know that she was going to be at Hogwarts that day—she supposed she _could_ alternatively let Dippet know instead and that would ensure a faster way of getting in—but Danielle's respect for the Headmaster, though it had been very incremental before, had now vanished entirely after his response to Dumbledore's death. Danielle hoped she would never have to see him again.

Luckily, Georgina sent a message back right away saying that she would open up the Gryffindor common room fireplace at two o'clock, and Danielle rushed to finish up the rest of her work. Her new supervisor, a likable if slightly forgetful man by the name of Bode, allowed her to leave early provided she had finished her tasks for the day. As Tom didn't arrive home until after supper most evenings, Danielle presumed he hadn't been as lucky.

While she stood in front of the wall of fireplaces in the Ministry Atrium, waiting for the clock to chime two, she wondered what information could be so "valuable" about Holstone that would cause Olive's father to pull her out of work. Had he been caught murdering someone? Or—Danielle gave a tiny gasp—could Mr Hornby have found out that he was working for Salazar Slytherin?

Before she had a chance to puzzle over the questions any longer, Danielle heard the deep gong at the other end of the Atrium reverberate twice, and after waiting impatiently for the little old witch in front of her to Floo away, hopped eagerly into the fire, anxious to see Hogwarts again.

* * *

Georgina was waiting for her when she jumped out of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, only slightly more balanced than she usually was, and quickly hurried her out of the room before any curious Gryffindors ran downstairs to see what all the commotion was about. Ignoring the Fat Lady's typical complaints, Danielle grabbed Georgina and pulled her into a corner so she could tell her about Olive's request. Georgina's eyes widened slightly when she mentioned Holstone, and she began to say something, but Danielle was by now too worked up to listen to her. "Tom is going to be so angry when he learns that I discovered something important before he did," Danielle said smugly.

"Clara, there's something I haven't told you..." Georgina began uncertainly, but Danielle was already sprinting off down the hallway. "I'll meet you back here in an hour, Georgie!" she called over her shoulder. "You can tell me then."

Danielle felt almost buoyant as she hurried down the Grand Staircase to the second-floor girls' bathroom; finally, crucial information might nearly be in her grasp. Of course, there was always the possibility that Olive would lie to her—but Danielle couldn't see _why_ Olive would lie about something like that. If her memory served her correctly, Olive had been just as curious as Danielle to find out why Holstone had wanted them to work in the Time Room.

She could hear Myrtle's sobs even before she reached the entrance to the bathroom. Danielle steeled herself for one of the ghost's long, pitying tirades before she pushed open the door and stepped inside, her eyes falling on Myrtle in an instant. She was sitting mournfully on top of one of the cubicles, looking particularly morose.

"Hello, Myrtle," Danielle said gently, taking a step toward her. "How are you?"

" _Clara,_ " whined Myrtle; she looked marginally happier to see Danielle, but didn't move from her perch. "You've finally come to visit me! I was wondering if you would ever come back—nobody ever does, you see."

"I can't imagine why not," Danielle muttered under her breath. The sink with the snake engraved on the faucet was directly in front of her, and even though she knew that the basilisk was dead and the Chamber of Secrets was deserted, she couldn't help shivering a little.

"The past year has been _wonderful_ ," Myrtle said, drying her tears. Her eyes were shining with a bit of happiness, something Danielle had rarely seen on her. "I've been following Olive around—I just witnessed her brother's wedding, in fact. You should have seen the looks on everybody's faces!"

"That's, er, what I've come to talk to you about," admitted Danielle. "Olive is very upset with it, you see."

Myrtle's sunny expression suddenly turned dark—it was rather alarming to watch. "Oh, is _that_ why you're here, then?" she wailed, swooping down and pointing an accusing finger at Danielle. "I should have known you didn't really care about me."

"I do—"

"People only come in here when they want something from me. Well, I'm not going to listen to them any longer!" The ghost gave a dissatisfied _humph_ and spun around, beginning to drift back to her cubicle.

This wasn't going the way Danielle had envisioned. "Myrtle," she began, feeling desperate, "I am _begging_ you to stop following Olive around. I promise I'll visit you more often. I _promise_."

Something about the tone of her voice gave Myrtle pause, and she slowly turned around, hope again shining in her large eyes. "You will?" she asked. "How often?"

"Any time you want me to," Danielle said recklessly. She hadn't bargained on Myrtle being so difficult to convince. "Olive came to me because she knew that I was the only one who you would listen to, and she has some very important information that I desperately need. It might even save my life."

Myrtle didn't answer for a long time; she stayed silent for so long, considering, until Danielle nearly couldn't stand it any longer. "I'm only saying yes because I don't like scaring the baby," she said reluctantly.

"You mean Jasper? Olive's son?"

"Yes. He's the only one who _smiles_ at me. I didn't know I was scaring him." Myrtle sniffed, and Danielle sensed that she was about to start crying again.

Trying to stop a calamity before it happened, Danielle quickly told her, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Myrtle. Listen—whenever you want to see me, just ask the Head Girl, Georgina Taylor, and she'll let me know."

"Are you su—" Myrtle began, but before she could get the last word out someone cleared their throat from the doorway. "Miss Ashford," Holstone said lazily, and Danielle whirled around to see her worst nightmare come true.

Shrieking loudly, Myrtle dove down into one of the toilets with a loud splash, presumably off to alert someone that Holstone was in a girls' bathroom. She hadn't been so eager to do that when Tom was inside, Danielle thought, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.

"S—s—sir!" she gasped, her hand flying to her wand. "What are you doing here?"

"I am the new Transfiguration professor," Holstone drawled, looking coldly amused. "Surely you knew that already, Miss Ashford?"

"No!" Danielle nearly screamed. Why hadn't Georgina told her this? How in the name of _Merlin_ had Holstone gotten a job at Hogwarts after being sacked at the Ministry of Magic?

"I presume you are wondering how I know you are a time-traveller," Holstone said lazily, as if there hadn't been a space of nearly six months since their last conversation. He pushed himself off the wall and taking a step into the bathroom, blocking her exit. Without waiting for Danielle's answer, he continued, "I heard you speaking about it to Mr Riddle one night shortly after I arrived at Hogwarts—you might want to mind your surroundings next time. I dismissed it as foolishness at first, thinking I had heard wrong—so imagine my surprise when I saw that you were wearing a Time-Turner necklace! After I had delved into your mind using Legilimency—your Occlumency powers are very weak, incidentally— I finally knew the truth: you had come from the future to stop the progression of Mr Riddle's curse, and you were, against all odds, succeeding. I do congratulate you on that, as Mr Riddle _did_ manage to find the diadem…" He trailed off, his tone light and musing, as he began to circle her like a lion circling its prey. Danielle gulped; she would surely never be able to hold her own against him.

"But you were sacked from the Ministry!" she said, praying that Myrtle would come back with another teacher—even Dippet. "How did you get the job here?"

"Armando and I have a long history." Holstone smirked. "It certainly helped my case that he fully sympathized with me. Did your friend Miss Taylor not inform you of that?"

Danielle shook her head mutely. "She didn't," she said in a soft voice, but her mind was whirling. Maybe she could manage to keep him talking—

But Holstone sensed the direction her thoughts were taking. "But enough of this foolish chit-chat, little girl," he snarled. "Where is the diadem?"

Danielle froze; so he was _still_ after it! Did that mean Slytherin hadn't managed to cure himself after all? "I don't know," she lied, but it was so unconvincing she wouldn't have even fooled herself.

"You," Holstone began, his tone light, "Are a filthy little _liar_. If I have to use the Cruciatus Curse on you until you divulge the answer, I will. Now, I'll give you one more chance: _where is Ravenclaw's diadem?_ "

It was then that Danielle saw a brilliant loophole: "I _don't know_ ," she said again. "Look into my mind. I have no idea where it is."

She was met with a stabbing headache as Holstone roughly pushed his way into her mind, with none of the subtlety and finesse that Tom had. It would have been almost too easy for Holstone to use Legilimency on her when she'd been ill with the time-traveller's curse—she would have just blamed it on her strange symptoms at the time. Her stomach rolled.

Danielle could sense the exact moment when Holstone came across the information that Tom had hidden away the Cloak and diadem with no explanation of where they were now. With a jolt, Danielle guessed that had been Tom's exact intentions: perhaps he'd guessed that she would come across a situation like this. Of course—Tom had always been a step ahead of her.

Holstone let out a terrifying cry of rage and lunged at Danielle, like an enraged beast. " _Stupefy!_ " she cried, and a jet of red light blasted him backward into the sinks. His head cracked against the porcelain with a sickening thunk, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Danielle stared at him for another moment before turning on her heels and fleeing the bathroom, sprinting all the way back to the seventh floor, where thankfully Georgina was already waiting for her. "How _could_ you leave something like that from me?" she shrieked. A group of passing sixth-years stared at her, and she wordlessly pulled Georgina into a nearby classroom before casting _Muffliato_ and glaring at the Head Girl, who looked ashamed. With scarcely a pause for breath, Danielle launched into the explanation of what had gone on in Myrtle's bathroom. "I could have been _killed_ and it would have been your fault!" she yelled, although she knew deep down that _she_ was partially to blame as well.

"Clara, I'm _sorry_ ," Georgina said plaintively when she could get a word out, "But I tried to tell you—"

"Well, then, try harder next time!" Danielle snapped, and stalked out of the room. She ducked behind a corner, hiding herself from sight before casting a Disillusionment Charm and waiting for Georgina to leave the classroom, looking glum, but with a spark of defiance in her eyes. If she had been crying or seemed downtrodden, Danielle might have taken pity on her and apologized—which she would later deeply regret not doing—but the Gryffindor-esque haughty glint in her eyes only added to Danielle's rage. She stood carefully behind Georgina as she recited the password to the Fat Lady and entered the Gryffindor common room.

There were a few Gryffindors scattered around the room studying or playing Exploding Snap, but luckily none were near the fireplace. Danielle waited until Georgina had gone up the stairs to her dormitory before walking over to the fire, preparing to Floo back to London.

* * *

When she arrived back at the Ministry and saw that Olive was standing near the fountain, tapping her foot in impatience and poorly concealing her trepidation, it took Danielle a moment to realize she was still invisible, and after apologizing to the wizard whose foot she'd accidentally trodden on she lifted the charm and went over to Olive, whose features relaxed infinitesimally at the sight of her. "Is she going to leave me alone now?" the harassed witch demanded.

"Yes," Danielle said wearily. "You have my word."

"Good, because if she doesn't then you should know that I'll be going straight to the Minister and blaming you as well," Olive replied.

In the wake of her sudden panic and rage, Danielle found she didn't even have the energy to retort. "So what's the supposedly valuable information you have for me?" she asked.

"Oh, right," Olive mused, as if she had forgotten about the other side of the bargain. "I suppose we should go somewhere a bit quieter to talk." Beckoning Danielle with a wave of her hand as if she were a queen, Olive set across the Atrium, her heels clacking loudly on the floor. Danielle gritted her teeth but followed her, dodging around Ministry employees and visitors as she did. At least she knew that she was safe from Holstone _here_ —perhaps she ought to consider installing a bed in her office.

While they were waiting for the lift to take them down to the Department of Mysteries, Danielle saw Tom walking over towards them. Feeling relieved, she started to call out—and then spotted a pretty blonde woman behind him, wearing a tight-fitting dress that most certainly _wasn't_ a standard employee uniform. She smiled at Tom with the adoration and fascination of every woman who laid eyes upon him—but that wasn't what caused the sting of jealousy to rear up in Danielle's mind. It was the fact that Tom was smiling back—contrived though she knew it to be—and barely spared Danielle a second glance.

The lift doors clanged open, and Tom and the mystery woman went in at once. Olive made to follow them, but Danielle, suddenly panicked, grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. "We'll wait for the next one," she said, but her voice was shaking.

It didn't take the other girl long to figure out why Danielle was flustered. "Trouble in paradise?" Olive asked, her tone sickly sweet.

"I guess you could say that," Danielle muttered. She was so overwhelmed by everything that was going on she felt as if she was about to collapse.

Olive now looked very smug. "That was Invidia Skeeter. She's a reporter for the _Daily Prophet._ Sometimes they'll get special permission from the Ministry to interview an Unspeakable. I can see why she would have chosen Tom."

Normally Danielle wouldn't have been bothered that Tom was charming a woman—provided it didn't become _too_ obvious—to get his way in something, but after the events at Hogwarts and her muddled confusion she felt as if she wanted to be sick. It didn't help that Olive was the last person she wanted present when she was like this.

Danielle didn't speak again until they had arrived back in the Time Room, weaving through the tables and shelves of clocks to get to her office. To her great relief, Tom and Invidia Skeeter had already disappeared by the time they'd reached the bottom.

When they were safely back inside her office, Danielle slowly lowered herself into her chair and gazed up at Olive. Her previous raging curiosity had all but disappeared. "Now, what is it that could possibly be so important about Holstone?"

"You see," Olive began painstakingly, swinging herself up onto Danielle's desk and crossing her legs—she looked almost as if she was _enjoying_ herself—"Dear Vikram Holstone is not who you think he is. When I was working for him last summer, I noticed he was always drinking from that little flask he'd used ever since he started teaching at Hogwarts and refused to part from it, not even when the Minister asked him to. My father mentioned one day that the Ministry's supply of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted for reasons unknown, and it didn't take me long to put two and two together after that."

Danielle's mouth had gone dry. "Polyjuice Potion?" she croaked. "Who…who is he really, then? And what happened to the real Holstone?"

"My father believes that the real Holstone is kept locked up somewhere around here," Olive answered. "That way it would have been easier to monitor him when his imposter worked at the Ministry. Of course, there would need to be spies around even now, considering that he isn't here anymore. And as for your second question, Ashford, I have two words: _Heinrich Schefflur._ An unfortunate name, wouldn't you agree? _"_

"Who is he?" It was similar to when Danielle had first heard the name _Tom Riddle—_ a distant, faint recollection. She had heard the words before—but where?

"He was an eminent professor at a school in Germany before moving to England a few years back and then disappeared suddenly. Of course, my father investigated and found out that he had been expelled from studying in Germany because of his experimentation with Dark Magic. He concluded that Schefflur was posing as Holstone so he could secure a teaching position at Hogwarts and experiment further there."

Danielle could hardly believe what she was hearing—but it all made sense, _perfect_ sense, in fact. The only thing that was missing was her crucial question: _Where had she heard the name before?_ "Didn't you tell anyone?" she asked. "Surely you would have been rewarded if your claims were proven."

"Why would we?" Olive looked bored. "It doesn't have anything to do with us, and besides, Schefflur would probably kill me if he found out."

Sometimes her complete and utter lack of conscience was truly astonishing. Trying to keep her voice level, Danielle said, "Does the Minister know?"

Olive shrugged. "I don't know, and frankly, I don't care if he's in on it or not. As long as I don't have to work at the Ministry, I won't say anything. I just thought that _you_ might be interested in it since you kept harping on about Holstone and his reasons for hiring us…I assume that you're intelligent enough not to let slip that I told you any of this."

Danielle shook her head, but Olive was the farthest thing from her mind right then. So Holstone was really Schefflur, a Dark wizard who had escaped to England after he had been banished from Germany. That would certainly explain why he had been Erik's mentor of sorts…but of course he couldn't be too blatant about it or Dumbledore would have suspected something.

 _Dumbledore._ How could he not have known? Or had he known all along and just hadn't told them? And how, then, could Schefflur have known that Tom was afflicted with Vetus Periculosus? What was his connection with Slytherin? Danielle stared blindly down at her desk, wishing more than ever that she could talk to Dumbledore.

* * *

Invidia Skeeter could hardly contain her excitement as she gazed around the Department of Mysteries; she had been yearning to visit for so long. Ten years of working at the _Daily Prophet_ and using her beauty to manipulate any man that she could get her hands on. And the Riddle boy might just be the most handsome one she had ever seen.

It didn't matter that Invidia was a decade older than him—age was just a number in her mind. Now she could finally get her biggest scoop—perhaps even the front page—detailing exactly what went on in the Department of Mysteries. Now she was staring eagerly at him, waiting for his explanation of how the department was run. She knew that he had temporarily blinded her after they had gotten off the lift so she wouldn't be able to see what was behind that plain black door—her editor had warned her of that—and although the office he had brought her to was hardly exciting, it was more than she'd ever expected to see in her life. She'd been brought here to interview him, but she fully expected that her article would be focusing more on the inner workings of the Ministry than anything to do with _him_ , pretty face though he was. "So, Tom," she purred, reaching out and adjusting his collar. "Tell me about yourself. Where were you born?"

"In a Muggle orphanage, Miss Skeeter," he said politely; his blue eyes were very bright, his sculpted cheekbones pale. "So you can imagine that I was overjoyed to receive my letter from Hogwarts."

She smiled, scribbling down his answer with her quill. "Very interesting indeed," she said, although in reality she couldn't care less. "Now, Tom…if you don't mind…I was hoping to have the article focus more on your work, rather than _you_. I'm sure you can understand!" She made her giggle as childish and girly as possible.

"I am afraid I cannot do that," Tom replied, sounding apologetic. "I granted permission for an article about myself. Any questions about my work are forbidden by the Ministry."

"But _Tom…_ " she tried, reaching out to take his hand. He took a step back right away.

"I am also engaged," he said shortly, and some of the blue in his eyes seemed to freeze over. "My fiancée is an Unspeakable as well. If you would not mind getting back to your questions, Miss Skeeter—"

Invidia ignored his answer, taking another step toward him so that their bodies were barely brushing together. "But she's not here right now," she whispered seductively, and kissed him on the cheek.

He didn't move to pull away.


	24. Paradox

Danielle continued thinking long after Olive had left the office, her head still in her hands and her mind as muddled as ever. If this new information _was_ true, she needed to find Holstone—the _real_ one—as quickly as possible; surely he would have more answers than she currently did. But, if he was in the Department of Mysteries, where would he be hidden? Where would Schefflur find enough room to hide a fully-grown man for years on end? Perhaps, she thought with a rush of understanding, he was in one of the _other_ chambers…that would certainly explain why he had forbidden her and Olive from leaving the Time Room under any circumstances. That left the Death Chamber, the Thought Chamber, the Love Chamber, and the Space Chamber.

As Danielle pondered which one would be most likely for a hiding-place—the one that was used the least, perhaps?—the locket around her neck blazed suddenly, the metal burning her skin. Danielle let out a cry of pain, her hands flying to her throat, but the pain was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving a mark on her skin.

Although she was still unable to remove the Horcrux—Danielle suspected Tom had placed a Permanent Sticking Charm on it—it hadn't hurt since the first day she'd worn it, and in all honesty she often forget it was even there. So why was it suddenly bothering her now?

Propelled by the worry that something had happened to him, she stood up and hastily left her office, darting back through the Time Room and out into the Entrance Chamber, where she found herself staring at the row of nondescript doors. She had never attempted to venture through any of them, and had absolutely no idea which one lead to the Death Chamber.

Well, it looked as if she would have to figure it out by trial and error. Taking a deep breath, feeling the sting of the Horcrux beginning to fade away, Danielle crossed the chamber and, with a wave of her wand, unlocked the first door she saw.

The room she stepped into was pitch-black, the opposite of the Time Room, whose light was so bright it hurt one's eyes. Even when Danielle cast _Lumos_ , her wand gave off a tiny pinprick of light, as if the darkness was somehow _thicker_ than normal. She raised her wand higher, and she could see the dim outline of an enormous blue orb, the size of a small house. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Danielle realized it was a model of Earth, with luminous clouds swirling in its depths. She took a hesitant step forward and saw that there were more models hanging behind it— Mars, and Jupiter, and Saturn…

Fascinated, she wondered if the Space Chamber contained a replica of the entire known _universe_ —and was abruptly jerked out of her thoughts as the locket gave another burst of heat, as if it was impatient. Slightly embarrassed and remembering what she was actually looking for, Danielle gave one last wistful look at the planets before turning around and exiting the room. She felt very odd standing on the floor again; it was almost if she had been floating herself while she was in the Space Chamber.

She had to admit that she was curious about what was hidden in the other rooms, and so tried the next door with eagerness. But, to her dismay, it was completely locked, and could not even be opened with _Alohomora._ After three tries, Danielle was forced to give up and move on to the next door, which thankfully opened easily.

She found herself in a large, square room, which vaguely reminded her of the courtrooms used for Wizengamot trials that she'd discovered on one of her first days of work when she had gotten lost. But instead of a chair standing in the middle of the room for an unfortunate defendant, there was a raised dais with a stone archway on top of it, covered by a dark veil which seemed to flutter slightly as if caught in some light breeze. The air in the room, though cold, was heavy and still. Although there was nothing overtly threatening about it, Danielle felt a strange sense of foreboding. Her gaze was drawn to the veil, from beyond which she could hear faintly whispering voices. But that was impossible—there was nothing but empty air behind it.

"Hello?" Danielle asked, nearly tripping down the rows of stone benches in her haste to get to the veil. There was no discernible answer, but the curtain began to flutter quicker, as if someone was waiting for her on the other side…

A high-pitched laugh broke her concentration, and she stared around, slightly dazed. The giggle hadn't come from the archway, but she didn't see anyone else in the room.

Tearing her eyes away from the dais, Danielle hurried back up the stairs in the direction of the laugh—she assumed that the offices of the Unspeakables who worked here were hidden in the back of the room as well. Luckily, she found the door ajar and crept down the next hallway, looking for Tom's office. With an unpleasant leap of her stomach, she realized that the giggle had come from the room at the very end of the hallway. She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself as she stopped in front of the door marked _Tom M. Riddle. At least it's open_ , she thought sourly.

Tom was facing her, staring across the room at Invidia Skeeter, who was gazing around as if she was looking at heaven. His eyes briefly flickered over to where she hid, and Danielle knew he had seen past her charm.

"But _Tom_ …" the reporter was whining; Danielle appeared to have arrived in the middle of an argument. She restrained the urge to silently hex the woman and settled for balling her hands into fists instead.

Tom took a step back as Skeeter moved closer to him. "I am also engaged." He sounded firm. "My fiancée is an Unspeakable as well. If you would not mind getting back to your questions, Miss Skeeter—"

"But she's not here right _now_ ," the woman breathed, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

This was too much for Danielle, who took a step forward, wand drawn and pointed at them. But she saw a flash of mahogany in Tom's own hand and as Skeeter drew back, he briefly jabbed it against her throat. She teetered unsteadily on her feet for a moment before he roughly pushed her away. Danielle watched in disbelief as Skeeter straightened up, fluffing her hair, and said, "Of course I'll write that article on you, Tom! It should be in the _Prophet_ by tomorrow."

"It was a pleasure speaking to you, Miss Skeeter," he replied, as polite as ever. "I will show you back to the Atrium." The reporter now seemed all too happy to leave the room, her expression vacant, and as Tom passed Danielle, who had shrunk into the shadows, he hissed, "Wait here."

 _As if I have anywhere else to go_ , she thought grumpily, and threw herself down into his chair, waiting for him to come back. At least he didn't have to put up with the constant ticking of clocks in his office—on the contrary, it was eerily silent. _Deathly_ silent, she thought dryly.

Tom returned ten minutes later, looking smug at his most recent accomplishment. Shutting the door with his foot, he walked over to her, looking exasperated, but she could see a slight smirk on his face.

"You Confounded her?" Danielle asked.

He nodded. "I had to make her believe that I was conforming to her wishes before I cast the spell."

Danielle paused. "Is…er…inviting attractive reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ to your office something you do often? If it is, then let me tell you a story about the handsome Quidditch players that spent a day with me once—"

" _No,_ Clara," Tom said patronizingly, rubbing his hand across his face in an uncharacteristic show of weakness. For the first time, Danielle noticed how exhausted he looked: there were prominent shadows under his eyes and he looked pale and drawn. She could even see there was a line of stubble on his chin, although it wasn't overly obvious yet. He hadn't looked this terrible since he'd been ill with the curse all those months ago. Had she really not paid attention to his appearance? She supposed she hadn't…in fact, they'd barely had time to themselves since they'd both begun working. "She proved… _useful_ to me."

"In what way?"

"If Slytherin were to find out that I was working at the Ministry, he may not be so quick to search for us," Tom explained, displaying once again why he was the most brilliant wizard of his age and leagues ahead of Danielle as usual. "He cannot try anything without risking getting himself caught."

"So you're hiding in plain sight, then," she mused.

"I suppose you could call it that." He straightened up, and whatever notions she'd had of his exhaustion were gone; his momentary show of weakness was over and he looked businesslike again. "Now, Clara, would you be so kind as to explain what exactly you are doing in my office?"

As soon as Danielle thought of the entire Olive Hornby fiasco, her heart sank. "You know, that idea was _excellent_ , but I don't think it's Slytherin we need to worry about now." She then launched into an explanation of her afternoon, starting with Olive coming into her office and ending with her unsure of which room the _real_ Holstone was in, despite her efforts to uncover Schefflur's motives.

Tom's expression, of course, betrayed nothing until he spoke. "Clara," he began, sounding frustrated, "Your lack of knowledge never ceases to astound me. Heinrich Schefflur was the author of _A Concise List of Dark Curses._ He was the one who originally brought awareness to Vetus Periculosus."

"Oh," said Danielle faintly. _Now_ she remembered the book—she had read his words over many times in fifth year, struggling to understand Tom's curse. "That would explain why he is working with Slytherin. But…what does he want with _me?_ It's understandable that he would want to monitor you, since you're his last remaining descendant, but I should be of no use to him…"

Tom was silent for a long moment before saying, "I do not know that, Clara. But I do know where Holstone is."

* * *

If the Space Chamber had been Danielle's favourite room in the Department of Mysteries, the Thought Chamber was her least favourite. It was lit by dim green low-hanging lamps, giving her skin a sickly pale glow, and was lined with vats of a thick, unknown liquid, in which swam eerie white substances. At first Danielle thought they were jellyfish, but when she walked over to examine the tank she realized that they were, in fact, brains. Shuddering in disgust, she gladly looked away and concentrated on following Tom instead.

"How do you know Holstone is in here?" she whispered lest any of the Unspeakables hear them.

"Beneath each of the tanks is a storage area of sorts," Tom explained. "Even the Minister himself does not know how large they are, and because of this they are rarely used. Schefflur is, as I have noticed, not one for subtlety, and it is logical that he would choose the most obvious hiding spot."

"That's great and all," Danielle said, gazing around the room, "But how are we supposed to find the right tank?"

Tom nodded at the vat in the very back corner of the room; it appeared to be empty. "I would assume that he would use this tank—since the storage areas are very rarely used in the first place, it would make even less sense for an employee to be searching in an unused one."

Danielle stood back as he paced around the glass, apparently searching for a way inside. Finally Tom pointed his wand at the floor under their feet, and several of the tiles melted away to be replaced with what looked like a long, spiraling staircase leading downwards. Looking pleased, Tom started down it, Danielle making sure to follow close behind him.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Tom lit his wand and the room was flooded with light. The chamber they were in now appeared to be strangely airless, and Danielle found she had to take several breaths to inhale the amount of air that would normally have taken her just one breath.

At first she thought that the chamber was empty, the only sound water faintly dripping from the ceiling—they must be deep underground—but then Tom muttered something under his breath, an ancient spell in a strange language, and Danielle's vision sharpened. She blinked in shock, feeling as if a cloth had just been pulled out from in front of her eyes, and found that she could see objects clearly at a distance that had only been blurred shapes before. And there was a definite human form lying crumpled on the ground that she hadn't been able to see until now.

Tom had already started towards the figure—Danielle followed at a more cautious pace, realizing the sharp features of Holstone as she drew closer. She had to keep reminding herself that this was the _real_ Holstone, not the imposter that she had known for two and a half years.

The man stirred as they approached, his eyes opening and staring blankly at Tom. "Who are you?" he croaked in Holstone's sharp voice.

"I am Henry Davies, and this is my… _wife_ , Ruth," Tom explained; Danielle rolled her eyes. "We heard reports that Schefflur had been keeping a prisoner down here and decided to investigate."

"So you know who he is, then," Holstone said, sitting up and pushing himself back against the wall. "Has he been exposed yet?"

"No," Danielle spoke up. "We want to know what happened to you."

"There's not much to say, really," Holstone snapped, sounding like the one she knew. "I was Stunned one day, my wand was taken, and I found myself down here with nary but a few scraps of food and a cot. At least I was brought more food when he noticed I was beginning to starve. Now he feeds me well enough, and as the time passed he started to bring me books." He nodded at the corner, where Danielle counted at least fifty books scattered across the floor.

"Did he tell you why you were being imprisoned?" Tom asked.

"Not at first," said Holstone. "But as time passed he told me more and more—I think he wanted to brag to someone." Danielle saw his eyes unfocus slightly, and guessed that Tom had cast some illegal spell so that he would be forced to tell the truth—or perhaps he had just been force-fed Veritaserum. "After Schefflur was banished from Germany, he spent months traversing the wilderness of Europe until he came across Salazar Slytherin—did you have any idea he was still alive?—and Slytherin immediately saw a use for him when he discovered that Schefflur had researched the curse that Slytherin had been suffering from for a thousand years. It's called Vetus Periculosus, and it—"

"Believe me, we know what it is," Danielle interjected. "So why would Schefflur agree to work with Slytherin?"

Holstone looked affronted at being interrupted. "I would imagine that the knowledge he would gain by working for a wizard such as Slytherin would be absolutely monumental. He would be able to learn primordial Dark curses that had not been heard of for centuries."

"Then why did he come to Hogwarts?"

"Slytherin was keeping track of his descendants all this time, and knew that his last remaining descendant was attending Hogwarts. He sent Schefflur there as a professor, disguised as me, so that he could keep an eye on his descendant. Do not ask me who it is—I do not know! But Schefflur began to mentor one of the students there, a spy for Grindelwald. After Dumbledore defeated him and the student was killed, Slytherin was irate with Schefflur for not concentrating on his descendant and fraternizing with Grindelwald's spy instead. Slytherin's descendant also had, under Schefflur's nose, cured himself of Vetus Periculosus using Ravenclaw's diadem, an object that Schefflur had been searching for as well. It is likely that Slytherin would have killed him had he not discovered that another student, and one who was romantically involved with Slytherin's descendant, was a time-traveller. This redeemed Schefflur in Slytherin's eyes, and he believed that if he was able to find proof that the girl was a time-traveller, he would be lauded with fame and honour—exactly what he had always craved.

"Meanwhile, Slytherin was becoming steadily weaker. Someone was destroying the Horcruxes he had made when he was a young man, bringing the curse ever-closer to killing him. You see, when Slytherin first cast Vetus Periculosus on his son, part of it backfired and rebounded onto him, but the Horcruxes he had made saved his life. Now that they have been destroyed, Slytherin's soul is steadily becoming more unstable and he requires the diadem to heal himself. If he does not find it soon, he will die."

"So he _hasn't_ used the diadem," Danielle breathed, glancing over at Tom. He was frowning slightly, and she could only imagine how fast his mind was figuring things out, putting the last pieces of the puzzle into place that had eluded them for so long. "Sir—Holstone—did Schefflur ever tell you how he is planning to find evidence that the girl is a time-traveller?"

"By going into the future, of course," Holstone answered. "Slytherin knows much about magic and how fragile the timeline is. You see, there are an infinite number of different timelines—parallel universes, if you must—that exist depending on which choices one has to make. Many of them greatly resemble the original timeline—if this one can even be _called_ the original—with only a few small differences. Others, however, are almost completely unrecognizable. If someone changes the timeline, it disrupts _every_ timeline that has ever been created. The consequences, of course, are very severe."

Danielle thought back to a conversation she'd once had with Dumbledore: "You did nothing except create an infinite number of parallel universes," he'd said. "When you first went back to the year 1942 a paradox was created which kept replicating your every action." Could he have known about the "alternate timelines" that Holstone was talking about?

"How is he going to find a way to travel to the other timelines?" Danielle asked.

"Schefflur told me that Slytherin has been working on a device that will allow the user to instantaneously appear in whichever universe they wish—he might even have invented it now."

Danielle shot a worried glance over at Tom, who didn't react. If Schefflur were to irrevocably change another timeline, there was no telling what ramifications it would hold for their current one.

"They are using each other in a way," Holstone said. "Slytherin needs Schefflur to stay disguised and search for the diadem, and Schefflur needs Slytherin's knowledge of time and parallel universes."

"And Schefflur told you all of this?" Tom asked, speaking up for the first time since the conversation had begun.

Holstone nodded. "He's told me bits and pieces for years. He said it doesn't matter how much I know because I'll never get out…"

"Strange," Tom said under his breath. At Danielle's quizzical look, he added, "There must be a reason why Schefflur wanted Holstone to know what he and Slytherin are doing. It does not strike me as arbitrary."

"What are the two of you doing here, if I may ask?" Holstone suddenly asked, looking annoyed for the first time. "Something tells me that you have not come to rescue me."

"Well, no," Danielle admitted; it would be too dangerous to release him with the information he knew—and Schefflur would figure them out right away. "But you'll get out of here soon. We promise."

She expected Holstone to fight back, but a look of resignation crossed his harsh features instead. "I assumed so. I've been trapped in here for nearly three years; I suppose I can stay for a while longer."

* * *

After thanking him profusely for explaining his situation to them (although Danielle suspected that he would not have been so verbose had Tom not cast a spell on him) she made Tom Transfigure the scraps of food Holstone had left into several very decadent meals and conjure up a dozen more books for him to read. The wizard, who was in no way like the Holstone Danielle had thought she'd known, was quick to express his gratitude. As she and Tom made their way out of his prison and back up into the Thought Chamber, Danielle realized why he hadn't made more of an effort to escape: he'd been trapped in his cell for so long that he had given up hope of ever seeing daylight again and probably wouldn't believe he was free even if they _had_ rescued him. Spending three years in the same room tended to do that to a person, she figured, and felt a wave of sadness for him.

A door that she hadn't noticed before led them directly back into the Death Chamber—Tom explained that it symbolized the relationship between consciousness and death—and soon they were standing back in front of the archway again, Danielle scrunching up her nose at the constant whispers. There were thousands of questions clamouring for attention in her brain, but instead of asking any one of the _relevant_ ones, like what they were supposed to do now they knew that Schefflur was masquerading as Holstone and planning to destroy the timeline for good, she said instead, "Can't you hear it?"

Tom glanced sideways at her. "Hear what?"

"The voices." Danielle looked over at the veil—if anything, the whispers had only grown louder, more urgent.

"No," Tom said flatly. The word sent a shiver through her, and she felt a wave of dread, suddenly nervous for a reason she couldn't explain.

"I don't like it in here," Danielle said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I think…I'm going to go back to the flat."

Tom nodded once. "You are to go straight back and not stop to talk to anyone. Do you understand?"

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"We do not know what Schefflur or Slytherin are planning next, or who is working for them. You cannot afford to put yourself in harm's way."

"And I suppose you're invincible?" Danielle muttered—but she knew that, technically, he was.

* * *

Alistair returned home with a letter from Dylan, inviting them (although Tom's name was smudged, as if Dylan had crossed it out several times before finally making up his mind) over to their new house during the weekend. Danielle was certain that Tom would refuse, but as she was reading the letter aloud she stopped when she read the name of the town aloud: Great Hangleton. She winced, glancing over at Tom above the letter. He was sitting perfectly still in the armchair, looking as handsome as ever in the firelight. "So," Danielle said. "Does this change your mind?"

His only answer was the ghost of a smirk.

* * *

Despite the almost overwhelming amount of new information that they had obtained, Danielle was still hard-pressed to think what their next move should be. They couldn't tell the Ministry about Schefflur, because once the Aurors captured him he would surely tell the Minister all about her and Tom in return, which was perhaps more trouble than it was worth. On the other hand, they couldn't just sit by and let Schefflur slowly destroy every timeline that existed. It was rather disconcerting to Danielle to think about the fact that that she might have millions of alternate selves, each one having made different decisions. Tom had been no help when she'd voiced her concern to him: he had merely said that since she herself had altered the timeline in so many different ways, she might not even be the same person as she had been when she had found the Time-Turner. Danielle had nearly retorted that he _definitely_ wasn't the same Tom Riddle that she had originally met, but he had doubtless realized that fact as well.

So, understandably, Danielle was more than relieved to simply have a day off and visit her friends as soon as possible. They Floo'd directly into Dylan and Felicity's new house, which proved to be a blessing as there was a late-winter ice storm currently blanketing the country, and she would have surely frozen if she'd had to Apparate.

Dylan looked most surprised, and a bit annoyed, to see that Tom had come along, but he didn't say anything except "Good to see you again, Riddle." Tom merely forced a polite smile in response.

As Dylan gave them a tour, it soon became clear that their so-called 'house' was more of a cottage. It had a very low, thatched roof, with a tiny sitting-room and an even tinier kitchen. A narrow staircase lead to Dylan and Felicity's bedroom and only one guest room. "It's about all we can afford right now," Dylan explained to them, his ears slightly pink, as they sat down on the couch with glasses of Butterbeer. "Mother and Father didn't leave me with anything, and Felicity's family isn't that well-off to begin with."

Great Hangleton, he told them, was a Muggle town, although he said that Little Hangleton, which was six miles away, had a larger concentration of wizards. Danielle's eyes darted over to Tom at this, but he hardly looked surprised.

Not long after they had arrived, Felicity came back from shopping, her arms laden with bags. Danielle noticed that her face was fuller and she looked much happier than she had at Alyssa and Alphard's wedding; living with Dylan appeared to have brought out the best in her. But when she put the bags down, her rounded stomach was obvious even to Danielle, who understood why they had been forced to move out right away. "You're pregnant?" she asked her, beaming. "Congratulations!"

Now Dylan was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm sorry you weren't at the wedding, but we couldn't afford to invite _anyone_. We wanted to get it done with as quickly as possible. When I told Mother and Father, they ordered us to leave the house by morning—I can't say that I didn't see it coming. She's due in September."

"Have you thought of names?" Danielle squealed, who dimly realized that Tom probably wasn't as enthralled with the conversation as she was, but she didn't care. She couldn't believe her freckly, gawky best friend was going to become a father.

Felicity and Dylan exchanged a tender look. "We've decided on Arthur for a boy and Philippa for a girl," Felicity explained, her quiet voice ecstatic. "I wanted an old-fashioned name."

"And we want you to be the baby's godmother," Dylan added. "Alphard has already agreed to be the godfather."

" _Me?_ " Danielle gasped. "I'd love to! Merlin, thank you so much!" She leapt out of her chair to hug both of them before turning to Tom, too excited to care about any sarcastic comments he would make.

But his chair was empty; she hadn't even noticed him leave. It was obvious from the looks on both Dylan and Felicity's faces that they hadn't noticed him stand up either. He didn't appear to be anywhere in the cottage, and Felicity finally suggested, "Maybe he went for a walk—there are some lovely gardens around here."

Danielle, though, knew that the _last_ thing Tom would do was go for a walk in the gardens. He probably Apparated directly to Little Hangleton…but she didn't have the faintest idea what he was going to find there.

She could only hope that Morfin Gaunt and the Riddle family were out for the day.


	25. Intertwined

Frank Bryce was tired.

He had spent four long, harrowing years in the war before injuring his leg and was sent back home with nary a pence to his name. He had returned to his old job as a groundskeeper, serving a well-known, reputable family called the Riddles. He didn't interact with them much, nor did they pay much attention to him, but he had a small, respectable cottage on the grounds and was allowed to keep to himself. Because of this, he was fiercely loyal to them and would protect them until the day of his death.

One snowy day in February, he was braving his way through the grounds back to his cottage when he spotted a lone figure in the distance, barely visible through the sleet that poured down from the sky. Frank stopped and squinted at the boy; he looked very much like a younger version of Mr Riddle. But that was impossible—Mr Riddle was at the house taking tea with his parents. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath how it was foolish to go outside during a blizzard, he shuffled back to his cottage.

* * *

While Clara had been distracted speaking to the MacDougal boy and his Muggle wife, Tom had easily slipped out of the house and Apparated to Little Hangleton. He had been unknowingly given the name of the town by Clara when she had confessed her visit to his own uncle, Morfin Gaunt. From there Tom had down his research to discover the exact location of the Gaunt cottage and the Riddle House.

Tom did not know how his parents had met, nor did he care. His father had never been in love with his mother, or else he would not have abandoned her when she was pregnant with Tom. An old feeling, the mixture of anger and something that was almost pain, stirred up within Tom as he thought those words, but he refused to let himself be swayed by them. When he was a boy he had spent long, lonely nights at the orphanage wishing his father would take him back. Now he wanted nothing more than to see the light leave the elder Tom's eyes; in his mind he _had_ no father.

The Riddle House loomed up in front of him as he strode purposefully up the front path, his heavy coat concealing his wand. Cold fury burned inside him while he surveyed the manor, its turrets and towers almost remarkably similar to Hogwarts, the mansion where _his father_ had lived a succulent lifestyle without a care in the world, ignorant of the fact that his son was alone and starving in a Muggle orphanage.

Tom set his jaw and pointed his wand at the front doors; they burst open with a loud crash and he strode inside, pausing only to Stun the housekeeper who had run into the foyer to investigate the noise. This was none of the uncontrollable anger that Vetus Periculosus had wrought in him—it was only pure, cold, calculated _fury._

Like Voldemort.

He had waited for this day for years. Tom knew that it should have been done long ago, but something had always happened to put it off, or for Clara to get herself involved in some abysmal plan that tore his attention away from the task at hand. Nineteen years of misery and resentment and torment were festering away inside him, and Tom suspected that not even Clara would have been able to distract him.

They were sitting in the drawing-room, talking in loud, arrogant voices about an affair the postman had been having with another one of their housekeepers. Tom stopped in the doorway, looking like a perfect replica of the nineteen-year-old Riddle Senior, and there were three distinct gasps from his father and grandparents.

"Who are you?" Tom Riddle Senior demanded. He lunged for the gun that lay on the coffee table, but his son had already pointed his wand at him.

"Darling, _no!_ " Mary Riddle shouted. She screamed as her husband Thomas pulled a shotgun from his pocket and pulled the trigger. The ensuing shot echoed around the room, causing Tom Riddle Senior and his father to freeze. The youngest boy was the only one not to have reacted.

"I," he said calmly, looking directly at Tom Riddle Senior, "am your son."

There was a very long silence, during which Mary Riddle began to cry and clutched at her husband's arm, who ignored her. "Your mother was a filthy, good-for-nothing whore," Tom Senior spat, brandishing the gun at his younger counterpart. "I want nothing to do with either you or her. Now get out of my house and never show your face around here again."

A light smirk crossed Tom's face, but it held none of the foolishness and superficiality that his father possessed in such great quantities. His was truly terrifying, and even the Riddles could sense it. "I plan to," he said, in a very quiet voice. Mary screamed again, grabbing a glass vase from the table to hurl at Tom, but before she could throw it the room flashed with green light and everything went silent.

* * *

Six miles away, the Horcrux necklace burned hotter than it ever had before, so searing that Danielle cried out in pain and dropped her tea. Dylan and Felicity both rushed toward her, but she barely noticed the boiling tea splashing on her skin—a vision flashed in front of her eyes, so vivid that for a moment she believed she was there herself—and she saw an elegantly furnished room, three bodies strewn on the floor. She gasped as a choking hollowness filled up her heart, a darkness so deep that she was left grasping around blindly, certain that she would never find a way out. It was like being in the presence of a Dementor—but no, there was a spark of something deep down, something that Danielle was able to grab onto. _Tom,_ she thought wildly. _Tom, you have to stop. Get away from there—leave!_

And then the connection broke, and she was back in the cottage, staring up at a shocked Dylan and Felicity, her eyes wild and tea dripping from her robes.

* * *

This time Tom didn't bother to cast Memory Charms on the housekeeping staff before he Disapparated out of the manor, reappearing on the main road just outside of the Gaunts' cottage. After he had seen the bodies of his family fall to the floor and the green light had faded from his eyes, he had heard Clara's voice urging him to leave. If Tom had been a less interrogative person, he would have dismissed it as a strange coincidence, but he didn't believe in coincidences.

Carefully filing away the memory to the back of his mind for later examination, Tom set off down the road, without a glance back at the Riddle House.

He felt nothing but a cold satisfaction at having murdered his father's side of the family; it was what they deserved, after all. If Tom Senior had shown remorse for what he had done, his son would have spared him. But he had scorned Tom, and in doing so he had only ensured his death.

It was only a short walk to the cottage, and Tom's sharp eyes spotted it right away. He didn't bother to conceal himself with a Disillusionment Charm; there were no other living souls around for miles, and even if there were, they wouldn't be out in a storm like this. Some inconsequential part of him was aware that it was bitterly cold outside and that he hadn't used a Warming Charm, but he barely felt the freezing air swirl around him. He had reached the Gaunts' cottage, and took a moment to survey it much in the same way as he had surveyed the Riddle House, taking in its collapsing roof and the snake nailed to the old wooden doorframe. It was ironic that, with all of its ostentatious grandeur, the manor had been nothing more than a façade, with no depth in the least. And now this tiny, shabby cottage had been the home of Tom's mother's family, with Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor as their ancestors. How many ignorant souls had walked by, unaware of the secrets it contained and instead thinking of the superficial Riddle House?

He would have once smirked at this, finding it amusing, but now no trace of humour crossed his mind. Something inside of him had changed, hollowed out, since he had created a Horcrux. Clara didn't notice, of course; she had been so preoccupied that she hardly noticed much of consequence anymore. When Tom had told her he loved her, that day in the Albanian pharmacy, he had felt perhaps a slight twinge of reluctance, but nowhere near the anger he should have logically expected to feel. In the past two months, his relationship with Clara had gone from intense both physically and mentally to one where they barely touched or spoke about important matters. Tom was certain that, once Clara was no longer preoccupied with her job and worrying about Slytherin, she would begin to press him on why he was acting differently towards her. He thought back to the previous summer, their first desperate, frantic night in the Room of Requirement and then the longer, unhurried days after they had first moved into the flat, where he and Clara had spent hours in bed…now it seemed as if it had been another person who had done those things, opened himself up in ways Tom had never even considered doing.

But he mustn't be sentimental now: what was he doing, thinking about that blasted girl any more than he had to? Tom's insults toward her were no longer filled with malice as they had used to be; now they were used only out of habit, perhaps even a touch of affection. Setting his jaw, he tore his mind away from her and focused on the task at hand.

 _Homenum revelio,_ he thought confidently, and sure enough, there was someone in the cottage. Tom knocked loudly on the door; surely he would be able to find the answers on Slytherin he needed.

It was quite a while before the door finally opened, revealing a short, hideously ugly man with an unkempt beard, ripped clothing, and dark eyes that glinted malevolently at Tom. He brandished a steak knife with one hand and a wand in the other. " _What are you doing here?"_ he hissed in Parseltongue. " _Get out of here, Muggle!"_

" _I am not a Muggle,"_ Tom replied back, and he saw the shock on his uncle's face. This must be Morfin Gaunt, his mother's brother and the last heir of Slytherin besides himself.

" _But you…_ " Morfin trailed off, lowering the hand that held the knife, though his wand was still pointed at Tom. " _You look mighty like him. My sister ran off with him, didn't she? She took Slytherin's locket and left us! And then that girl showed up and started asking questions about the curse, saying that my sister had a son with that filthy Muggle!"_ He spat on the ground.

Tom took a step forward. " _What do you know about Slytherin?"_

" _Not much,"_ grunted Morfin; he took a step back into the house and sank into an empty, overstuffed armchair. Tom's lip curled in disgust as he surveyed the shack's interior; it was absolutely filthy, covered with a layer of dust and debris scattered everyone. _"I'm descended from him, see. I'm the last one left, unless you count my sister's pathetic child—but he don't count, that Muggle blood taints Slytherin's noble blood! My father had Slytherin's locket—it was his prized possession until Merope stole it—and this ring. It's all I know of him."_ He brandished his middle finger at Tom, who saw that it wasn't a very rude hand gesture he was making, but rather showing him a gold ring that was inset with a heavy black stone.

" _And what of Slytherin himself? Have you ever heard stories that he is still alive?"_

Morfin shook his head and grabbed a wine bottle, the liquid inside overflowing and sloshing all over his robes as he lifted it to his mouth. " _Never heard nothin' like that…my father used to say that he lived in the east, in Norfolk, but I never been there. Don't care, neither."_ He took another gulp of the wine and abruptly slumped down into the chair, snoring loudly. He had fallen asleep.

Tom stared in revulsion and a hint of disappointment at his uncle before pulling out his wand and pointing it at him; he refused to get too close to the filthy old man.

Later that day, Morfin would wake up surrounded by Ministry personnel and charged for the murder of the Riddle family. He admitted to it at once, unaware that false memories had been implanted in his head, and carted off to Azkaban, where he would spend the remainder of his life. If some part of his mind remembered the young, handsome boy who had appeared in the doorway and spoke to him, he never breathed a word about it. He was too preoccupied mourning the loss of the Gaunt ring, unaware that it had contained the Resurrection Stone all along.

* * *

Danielle tried her hardest to concentrate on Dylan's inane conversation—after Felicity had brought her a new cup of tea, Dylan had begun telling her about his plans for the new baby, including potential middle names and the Houses he hoped for it to be one day Sorted into—but Danielle's elation over becoming a godmother had abruptly vanished. Now she was worried about Tom and wondering why she had seen the strange vision. Was it just a hallucination, or had it actually happened? She had never heard of Horcruxes being so closely tied to their "owners", as it were. If that was the case, why was _she_ being so closely affected by it? She had a vague memory about reading that Horcruxes could affect the moods of the people around them, but nothing about seeing visions or actually becoming _connected_ to the person to whom they belonged. Danielle's hand unconsciously reached up and closed around the locket, which had cooled, and wondered if the red mark just below her collarbone, which matched the strange mark she had seen on Tom's chest, would ever disappear.

Just as Dylan was recounting an argument they had had while trying to decide what colour the wallpaper in the baby's room should be, the front door swung open again. Felicity jumped, letting out a small gasp. Dylan rose to his feet, reaching for his wand, but lowered it when he saw that it was just Tom. Danielle noticed the edge of something hard in his eyes, and quickly lowered her gaze when he walked over to her.

"Where did you go, Riddle?" Dylan asked, sitting back down next to Felicity, who had put a protective hand over her stomach.

"I was just taking a walk around the gardens," Tom replied smoothly, echoing Felicity's earlier words. "They are quite a sight to behold, even in weather such as this."

Both Dylan and Felicity appeared to be satisfied with this explanation, but Danielle, of course, knew he was lying. Seizing her chance, she jumped up and asked, "Can you show me those gardens, Tom? I'm quite curious now."

He shot her a warning look, but couldn't refuse in front of the others, so was forced to follow Danielle out of the cottage and out onto the road. She cast a Silencing Spell in case any Muggles happened to be nearby and crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "How many people did you kill?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she jabbed her wand at him; he didn't flinch away. "You killed your father, didn't you? I saw it."

Now a faint hint of surprise crossed his face, and something that was almost like unease. "I presume you called out to me as well?"

Danielle stowed her wand back into her robes, satisfied that their conversation was finally getting somewhere. "Yes, I did. The necklace burned me as well."

Tom reached out and lifted the locket away from her neck, turning it over in his fingers before letting it drop back down; her skin tingled at his touch and she saw a flash of black that quickly disappeared. "It must be transferring some of its energy over to you. Since it is still connected to me, it can feed off my emotions. I would imagine that having multiple Horcruxes would diminish its strength…but even then, the connection might be honed…"

"You mean you would consciously be able to communicate with me?" Danielle asked, stunned. "Like…like telepathy or something?"

"That is a very Muggle way of looking at it, but yes," Tom confirmed, sounding almost lazily amused. "I will have to research that."

The thought of being connected to him by a Horcrux was not a pleasant one at all, and the image of the three bodies lying in the Riddle House crossed Danielle's mind. She cringed away from it, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. "Can we go home?" she begged. "I can't stand another minute of Dylan rambling on about whether they're choosing Niffler black or Flobberworm yellow for the baby's bedroom."

"Flobberworm yellow?" Tom asked. He still sounded amused, but Danielle knew he was contemplating the different ways he could toy with her mind—he would probably make her see false visions or hallucinations.

"Yeah," replied Danielle as she took a step away from him, back toward the cottage. "It sounds like the most unappealing colour—probably the last one I would choose for a nursery, but…what's on your finger?" She had seen that flash of something black on his finger again.

Tom raised his hand and she saw that he was wearing a ring on his right index finger, inset with a black stone. There was an odd symbol scrawled on the stone, but Danielle couldn't make out what it was. "It is another one of Slytherin's heirlooms," he explained, and Danielle realized that she had seen Morfin Gaunt wearing it when she had paid Little Hangleton a visit two winters previously. This must be the ring that Voldemort had used as a Horcrux.

Her eyes flashed up to him, startled, but Tom was sliding the ring off his own finger. He grabbed her wrist and dropped it into her palm, where the stone glittered slightly in the weak winter sun. "There," he said. "Consider it your engagement ring."

* * *

No matter how much she questioned him about what else he had done in Little Hangleton, Tom was frustratingly silent, only saying that she would eventually find out. Danielle wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad omen—but when it came to Tom, it usually wasn't good.

Invidia Skeeter's article appeared on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the next week, and although it was shorter than Danielle expected it to be—it briefly stated that Tom was a half-blood, had grown up in a Muggle orphanage and been Prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts, although it gave no explanation of his sudden departure from the school—he appeared to be satisfied with it. And, it appeared to have worked, as Slytherin still hadn't resurfaced and the diadem and Cloak were still hidden away.

Schefflur hadn't come forward either and accused Danielle of being a time-traveller—at least not publicly. He still had a reputation to uphold as Holstone, although once the summer came that was liable to change. He couldn't disrupt the timeline now, since he held such a valuable position at Hogwarts, but the question that often kept Danielle awake at night was what would happen when he felt like he had nothing to lose.

She was still on uncertain terms with Georgina, and although she had considered writing to her several times and asking about Schefflur, Danielle had refrained from doing so, still not quite able to forgive her after what she had done—or _didn't_ do. Why hadn't she informed Danielle beforehand that Schefflur was teaching at Hogwarts? Danielle had very nearly been killed because of Georgina's omission of that one little fact. Perhaps it was childish and bullheaded of her, but she wasn't planning on speaking to Georgina until the other girl contacted her first.

On top of all _that,_ Bode had recently informed her that although she was one of his hardest-working employees and technically should be eligible for moving up to a higher position, he was reluctant to allow it because she was too young.

"I can't believe it," Danielle groaned that night, slamming the door of the flat behind her and shrugging off her jacket. "He told me that I had to wait until I was twenty-one before I could even be _considered_ for a raise! In his mind I'm still just an intern." She gritted her teeth and stalked over to Alistair's cage, who had been nudging at the lock with his beak, and let him out before reaching out her arm for Fawkes to fly onto. The phoenix was a surprisingly compliant pet; he didn't make half as much noise as Alistair and Ophelia put together, and during his Burning Days Danielle would often sit cross-legged on the bed with the tiny bird in her lap, stroking his gold-plumed head.

When Tom didn't respond, she glanced over at him to see that he was closely inspecting the mantle on the fireplace, reaching out his finger to swipe a bit of dust away. "Someone has been here," he announced, straightening up and dusting his hand off.

"What do you mean?" Danielle asked, alarmed. "Everything looks fine to me…"

"They did not take anything, but the wards I put up around the flat have been tampered with and the fire is still warm," Tom replied shortly, beginning his customary pacing around the room.

"But…but surely the animals would have alerted us," Danielle stuttered, glancing over at Fawkes and Ophelia. "I would have thought that Fawkes would be able to scare anyone away."

"Not if they were placed under a charm as well,'" Tom said grimly. He looked up and they met each other's gazes across the room, and they both knew what the other was thinking: Slytherin was likely the only wizard powerful enough to get past Tom's defensive wards.

"So," Danielle said, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to run out of the flat screaming. "Did he get the diadem?"

Tom shook his head. "I did not hide the diadem or the Cloak here—fortunately, everything else appears to be untouched. There is, however, no telling what sort of ancient magic he may have placed on the wards." He looked frustrated, and for once, Danielle could sympathize with him. Tom was so used to figuring out the answers within seconds that knowing there may be branches of magic he wasn't aware of had to be unbearable for him.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Danielle asked, "What do we do now?"

Tom responded to her question with one of his own. "Do you have a dress?"

"A…A dress? Why do I need a dress?" she stammered, completely befuddled.

"A _wedding_ dress," he clarified, and Danielle's eyebrows shot up. "We are engaged, are we not?" he asked, a tone of sarcasm slipping into his voice.

"Yeah, I got that part, thanks," she snapped back. "Are you suggesting we get married _now?_ "

"Tomorrow," he answered, waving his wand at the kitchen table. The items scattered on the wood immediately arranged themselves into a neat pile before Tom conjured a box and Summoned them inside.

Danielle hated asking so many questions, but her mind was still racing to keep up with his logic. "Why? Are we moving out or something?"

Tom didn't look at her as he replied, "Yes, Clara. That is exactly what we are doing."

* * *

"I can't believe you're finally getting married!" Alyssa squealed as she danced down the rows of dresses at Twilfitt and Tattings. "It's been _months_ and I was beginning to think you called off your engagement."

Danielle rolled her eyes. "It's only been three months, Lyssa. You and Alphard were engaged for a year."

"But Alphard's not Tom," she was quick to reply, tossing a dress at Danielle. "If I were you, I'd want to marry Tom as soon as possible before he changes his mind."

Danielle, staggering under the weight of the dresses, couldn't help but chuckle. "As opposed to him changing his mind _after_ we get married?"

"Shut up and try on the dresses," scowled Alyssa, knowing she had been beaten. Danielle cast the dresses an evil look, despairing at the fact she would have to try all of them on.

After she had ascertained that Tom was serious about getting married the next day, she had enlisted Alyssa's help with going down to Diagon Alley and picking out a dress; it was a sheer stroke of luck that the store was open late on Friday nights. At least Danielle wouldn't have to worry about taking a day off work, as she would have bet every Galleon she owned that Tom wasn't planning on a honeymoon.

"So you and Alphard will be the witnesses, then?" Danielle asked, stalling for time. Perhaps it hadn't been a very good idea to ask Alyssa for help choosing a dress after all.

Her friend nodded as she continued to scour the shelves. "I'll ask Dylan if he wants to come along as well…that is, if he can bear to be away from Felicity for an hour." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and Danielle was about to say that Felicity was welcome to attend too until she realized that a Muggle wouldn't be allowed in the Ministry. "Now try these on," she instructed. "The shop closes in half an hour."

"Lyssa, I don't want to try _any_ of them on," Danielle groaned, placing her hand on her forehead. "This was a terrible idea…listen, just pick a dress for me and I'll wear it, all right?" _I've had enough stress for one day,_ she thought. _First I was passed up for that raise, then I learned that Salazar bloody Slytherin has access to our flat, and now I'm apparently getting married tomorrow._

Alyssa finally looked concerned. "If that's what you really want, Clara. I'll make you some hot cocoa once we get back home."

"Back home?" Danielle echoed. "You mean I'm not going back to the flat?"

Alyssa shook her head. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, remember?"

"Merlin, I thought that was only a Muggle tradition," Danielle groaned, leaning her head back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

"It's actually a wizarding tradition that was somehow passed through to Muggles," Alyssa explained. "Alphard can tell it much better than I can. Something about a Grim and a prophecy…"

Danielle, who would usually have been interested in such a tale, now found that it wasn't the foremost thing on her mind. The prospect of spending a night away from Tom and the flat was something of a relief to her, since he would undoubtedly be up all night compulsively checking to make sure that the wards were still working—and besides, if Slytherin _did_ try to get in again, her absence would be one less target for him. She tuned out Alyssa's chatter and hoped that her friend would choose an appropriate dress.

* * *

To Danielle's relief, Tom didn't seem to particularly care that she was spending the night at the Blacks', and she found herself sitting in the kitchen of Alyssa and Alphard's new home—a grand mansion not far from MacDougal Manor and that could have comfortably fit ten of Dylan and Felicity's cottage—with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of cocoa, despite the balmy March weather outside.

"…And then he said, 'Well, this certainly is a grim situation!'" Alphard laughed, but Danielle had barely heard his story. She appreciated her friends' efforts to calm her down, but she wasn't sure how to explain to them that it was much more than just pre-wedding jitters. How long had Slytherin known where they lived? Why hadn't he taken anything? What if he _had_ found the diadem and replaced it with a fake one, like the time Tom had found the fake diadem? Danielle certainly wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be true. She knew, of course, that Tom was more than capable of defending himself if Slytherin _did_ decide to return, but what if he, knowing that she was the weaker link, went after her instead? Alyssa and Alphard were both quite capable and proficient at magic, but Danielle was sure they wouldn't be able to last in any sort of combat against a thousand-year-old, nearly immortal wizard.

She excused herself soon after Alphard's story—which was, she would realize later, actually quite funny—and went up to her room. Although it was lavishly decorated—no doubt they had received a large portion of both the MacDougal and Black fortunes—and her bed was just as comfortable as her old four-poster bed at Hogwarts, Danielle couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, a different and equally horrible scenario would pop into her mind: Tom somehow being overcome by Slytherin, Schefflur coming after her, both storming into the Ministry during the wedding…Danielle jerked awake for the millionth time, feeling something hard press into her palm. She shakily uncurled the hand that had balled into a fist and saw that it was just her ring digging into her skin. Despite its dubious origins, Danielle had worn the Gaunt ring on her finger almost constantly. She wasn't even sure herself why she continued to wear it, since it, unlike the locket Horcrux, wasn't bound by a Permanent Sticking Charm, but even so…Danielle held her arm out in front of her and watched the stone reflect the moonlight, casting long shadows onto the floor. She supposed she ought to be ecstatic and delighted that she was _finally_ marrying Tom after weeks of uncertainty and hesitation, but all she could muster up was trepidation.

Alyssa woke her up early the next morning—Danielle hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she saw sun streaming in through the curtains instead of moonlight—and forcibly dragged her out of bed, stuffing a thick white material into her arms. "Your dress," she said at Danielle's puzzled, half-asleep look. "Put it on."

Sleep deprivation combined with worry did little to help Danielle's nerves, and she ended up sitting, zombie-like, in the master bedroom in front of Alyssa's vanity table while the bossy redhead fussed over her, making sure that the dress fit correctly and pulling her hair up out of her face. Despite Danielle insisting multiple times that she didn't want or need a bouquet of flowers, Alphard dutifully brought her freshly-cut roses, which Alyssa explained proudly were from their garden.

"Lyssa, I'm getting married at the Ministry, not Westminster Abbey," Danielle complained before realizing she probably wouldn't understand the reference. Still, her friend definitely picked up on her uneasiness, and thankfully stopped her fussing.

"Fine," Alyssa sighed sadly, throwing up her hands in defeat. "I suppose it's suitable for a Ministry wedding."

Danielle shot her an amused look before standing up to see the damage that had been wrought. To her pleasant surprise, she didn't look half-bad: the dress Alyssa had picked out was perhaps tighter than Danielle would have liked, and rather low-cut, but it was simple and, she hoped, not overly expensive. Part of her hair was pulled up into a bun, leaving the rest to fall back over her shoulders, and luckily Alyssa hadn't seen it necessary to put any makeup on her. Danielle had to admit she was pleased with the outfit—it wasn't overly obvious she was wearing a wedding dress, but it wasn't shabby either; she might have been a guest at someone _else's_ wedding.

Alyssa shoved the flowers into her hands and brought Danielle a pair of flat white shoes that were far too small, but Danielle didn't dare to complain. "We're meeting Dylan at the Ministry and Alphard told Tom that we would be there at noon," she explained as Danielle tried squeezing her feet into the shoes, thinking guiltily of Georgina. "I can't believe this is actually happening!"

"Me neither," Danielle muttered, trying to ignore the searing pain in her feet and wondering if she would be able to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on the shoes so she would be able to walk.

"Now, are you hungry or thirsty?" Alyssa asked, flittering about her like an excited bird. "I can even ask Mother and Father if Tippy can prepare something and bring it over—"

"Just water, please," Danielle said, following her out of the room and back downstairs to the kitchen, where Alphard was waiting for them.

"You look great, Clara," he said, grinning. "I see that you didn't let Lyssa go entirely berserk."

"Excuse me?" Alyssa asked, appearing behind Danielle and glaring at her husband. "I would not have gone _berserk!_ She doesn't even look like a bride as it is…"

Despite herself, Danielle couldn't help but laugh—until the locket gave a sudden tug, seemingly of its own accord. Her smile froze on her face, and she reached out to grab the back of a chair in case she was met with another one of the strange visions, but she stayed firmly in her own mind. At least the metal hadn't heated up as it had done before.

Tom had said that there might be a way to control the Horcrux, to make Danielle see what he _wanted_ her to see instead of being pulled into his mind at certain moments, but from what she gathered he hadn't figured out a way to harness its power yet. At least it had only burned her once, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that it wouldn't be the only time.

* * *

Danielle was hardly spared a second glance as she was rushed through the Ministry Atrium later that day. Alyssa's hand was clasped tightly on her arm as she was yanked through the crowds, Dylan and Alphard walking on either side of her. With every step she took, Danielle's trepidation grew. After months of not even _speaking_ about a wedding, they had made rushed plans within twelve hours, and now she was beginning to wonder if it was all a trick and Tom was still in their flat smirking to himself. Or—even worse—what if Slytherin or Schefflur got wind of the wedding and were planning to show up at the Ministry today? Danielle quickly ducked her head at the thought, although she knew it didn't do much to disguise her features.

Later on, she would look back at the journey to the officiant's office as a blur. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely hear anything else, while another part of her was in denial that this was actually happening. She was finally getting married to Tom Riddle.

To _Voldemort_.

Danielle let out a squeak and stopped in her tracks, collapsing against the wall in horror. Why was she suddenly becoming upset about this _now?_ She had had years to come to terms with the fact that she was in love with the Darkest wizard to ever exist, but now that she was actually marrying him it was as if the idea hadn't fully sunk in until now.

"Clara, are you all right?" Alyssa was asking worriedly from above her, but Danielle couldn't respond. She wanted to be sick, but concentrated on closing her eyes and taking deep, calming breaths. _Come on,_ she told herself. _You have been nearly killed dozens of times, time-travelled a hundred years into the future, broke into Nurmengard and was sent to Azkaban! Are you really going to let a_ wedding _stop you?_

"Yeah, I'm fine," Danielle said shakily, standing up straighter and forcing a smile onto her face. "Let's go."

Her friends still looked concerned, but she forced herself to move ahead and through the door where the officiant stood waiting.

It was a small, plain office, indistinguishable from Danielle's own office in the Department of Mysteries. A picture window looked down onto the street, where torrents of rain poured down onto the poor souls stuck outside in the storm. Nothing about it suggested that it had been the site of thousands of weddings through the years, some more rushed than others.

Tom was standing in front of the desk, dressed in a dark suit that made Danielle's jaw drop for a moment—Merlin, how did he look so bloody _handsome_ in everything?—next to a man that she recognized as the same officiant from Alyssa and Alphard's wedding. They both turned as she hurried in, dropping the bouquet of roses on one of the chairs.

"Oh, excellent," the officiant said in a bored tone. "Looks like they finally decided to show up."

"We're only ten minutes late," Alyssa shot back, not seeming to notice or care that he was the same wizard who had married her and Alphard just three months before.

Danielle walked up to Tom and grabbed his hand tightly, not letting him pull away. "I thought _you_ would be the one who wouldn't show up," she whispered. He gave her a withering look.

"If you'll just sign here, please," the officiant said, Summoning a piece of paper over to each of them; he kept casting longing glances at the window, as if eager to get to his lunch break as soon as possible.

 _I hope Alyssa and Alphard didn't pay him_ too _well,_ Danielle thought darkly as she glanced over the paper. She recognized the vows from their wedding; the standard declarations of love and devotion to each other for the rest of their lives. Well, _one_ of their lives would be much shorter than the other's. Grabbing a quill from the inkpot on the desk, she signed _Clara Marie Ashford, 12 March 1946_ at the bottom of the parchment and handed it back to the officiant. He waited for Alyssa and Alphard to finish signing their witness papers before collecting them all with a wave of his wand. "Congratulations," he said in the same uninterested tone, inclining his head to Danielle and Tom. "You are now legally married." At his words, Danielle felt a twinge on her finger and she looked down to see that a gold ring was now sitting on her left hand, taking the place of the Gaunt ring, which had moved to her index finger.

"That's it?" Alyssa asked, sounding disappointed. "No vows or anything?" Danielle distinctly heard Alphard mutter something that sounded like "Wish _our_ wedding had been more like this."

"Some people don't need vows, Lyssa," Dylan said patiently, and Danielle supposed he was thinking of his and Felicity's wedding.

"Actually, they were on the parchment," she explained, letting go of Tom's hand—she was pleased to see that he was wearing a ring as well—and, after a quick smile at the officiant, grabbed her bouquet and followed her friends out of the room. "I suppose he didn't feel the need to say them aloud."

"So how does it feel to be married?" Alphard asked her.

Danielle looked over at Tom—he was her _husband_ now—and found herself unable to process the fact that she was married to him. They had barely been inside the officiant's office for ten minutes. "I can't believe it," she said slowly. "Merlin, I'm only eighteen. If you'd told me a year ago that I would be married…" Shaking her head, she smiled to herself and turned back to Alphard. "What I mean to say is that it hasn't sunk in yet."

"That's normal," he replied, turning his gaze to Alyssa, who was talking to Dylan excitedly. "I _still_ don't think it's sunk in yet that I'm married myself."

They emerged from the dark, cool Atrium of the Ministry into the pouring rain, standing under an overhang for shelter. Danielle hugged each one of her friends, profusely thanking Alyssa and Alphard for allowing her to stay at their manor overnight. "You better invite us to your new place!" Alyssa threatened. "Where is it, anyway?"

Danielle's eyes widened; with everything else that had been going on, she had completely forgotten that the whole _reason_ for their marriage was because Tom was planning on moving out of the flat. "I…have no idea," she stammered. "I suppose I'll tell you when I find out."

"Well, that sounds ominous," Dylan muttered, giving Tom a hard glance. "Good luck, Clara."

His dislike for Tom had always been obvious, and it was apparent the feeling was more than mutual. Tom, however, just smiled, as if something about Dylan's comment was amusing to him. His annoyance was almost imperceptible, but just in case Alphard or Alyssa decided to agree with Dylan, Danielle hurriedly said, "Yes, I'll invite all of you to a housewarming party sometime."

A loud crash of thunder interrupted Alyssa's answer, and Danielle jumped backward into Tom. The Muggles who were out on the street began running for cover under the overhang, effectively stopping their conversation. Alyssa and Alphard Apparated back to their manor, and Dylan back to Great Hangleton, leaving Tom and Danielle alone. Sensing what he was going to do, she grabbed his hand and, after casting a Disillusionment Charm on them, Apparated away from the crowd of Muggles.

Danielle wasn't sure where she expected to reappear—in front of a rundown cottage, maybe, or even another flat in London—but she most certainly hadn't anticipated a sprawling manor house, every bit as grand as MacDougal Manor or Alyssa and Alphard's house. The grounds appeared to be well-kept and equally as large; there was even a pond on the front lawn in which ducks and swans were swimming.

"Where are we?" she asked dizzily, staring in awe at the manor looming in front of them—it looked at least a hundred years old.

"Norfolk," Tom replied, beginning to stride up the pathway toward the mansion. "Morfin Gaunt told me that Salazar Slytherin once lived in this area and I spent several days researching where he may have resided. The evidence pointed to this property, although of course the original manor would be long destroyed. There was a Muggle couple living here until very recently; they were both old and died within weeks of each other."

Danielle gave him a pointed look. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?"

"No, Clara," Tom said wearily. "It was merely a coincidence."

 _You don't believe in coincidences,_ she thought, but didn't voice it aloud. "So…we're going to live here now?" she asked in awe, craning her neck for a better view of the manor.

He nodded and opened the front door, Danielle stepping into a wide, tiled entryway with a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a spiraling mahogany staircase leading up the second floor, where a balcony circled around the room. "I have been planning to move into it for weeks; it was only a question of when," Tom explained. But Danielle wasn't listening to him—she had heard a familiar cry, and rushed into the adjoining room where Alistair flew toward her, hooting excitedly. Fawkes and Ophelia followed suit. "And you brought all the furniture with you, too!" Danielle exclaimed. She laughed out loud. "I can't _believe_ it, Tom," she said for the millionth time that day, standing on her tiptoes so she could kiss him happily, his arms wrapping around her waist in response. "What's gotten into you?"

His body tensed against hers, and Danielle pulled her head back so she could stare up at him. "There was hardly a more convenient time for the wedding, and it would have been foolish to stay in London any longer."

"Then _why_ ," she whispered, "Did we move to the place where Slytherin used to live?"

Tom's expression betrayed nothing of his true emotions as he said, "Firstly, he would not expect us to come here—in fact, it would be the _last_ place he searches for us—and secondly, I have rendered the area Unplottable and studied advanced defensive magic in order to construct wards that are even more powerful than the ones that surrounded the flat."

This wasn't comforting to Danielle in the least, and, sensing her discomfort, Tom added, "I will not let Slytherin or Schefflur harm you, Clara."

"But you…you're not _infallible_ , Tom! You said so yourself! You may be able to save your _own_ life with that Horcrux, but what about mine?"

His grip tightened on her, and he murmured, "Trust me, Clara."

And Danielle had to—it was, after all, her only choice.


	26. Life's Thread

Georgina couldn't be happier.

She had finally graduated from Hogwarts with a Head Girl badge, and she had achieved stellar marks. The Ministry had even come forward to her with an internship, and she was seriously considering their offer. But for now, though, she was content to spend the summer in Albania with Skender—she'd deserved it.

Alyssa had written to her informing her of Tom and Clara's wedding in March. Georgina wasn't sorry that she hadn't been invited; from the tone of Alyssa's letter, it hadn't been anything special, and she wasn't even certain she would have been able to sneak out of Hogwarts. The fact also remained that Clara was still angry at her, and Georgina couldn't blame her—she _had_ nearly been killed, after all. She had refrained from telling her that Holstone was working at Hogwarts for the simple reason that she didn't want to worry Clara any more than she already was. Besides, she had never expected that Clara would return to Hogwarts again with Dumbledore dead. But Georgina couldn't muster up a feeling of guilt; it wasn't _entirely_ her fault. At any rate, she was going to see how long it took Clara to get over her grudge.

And now her friend had gotten married to Tom Riddle, who had the potential to become one of the Darkest wizards of all time. Georgina shuddered at the thought, moving closer to Skender. "What is it, _e dashura?_ " he whispered.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to shrug it off. They were sitting by the swimming pool at Skender's house in Tirana—Georgina had moved in with him after she'd graduated—and she was just about to lean over to kiss him when the front doorbell chimed distantly from inside the house. "It's probably just a Muggle," she groaned, pulling away and getting to her feet. "I'll answer it."

Skender smiled warmly at her before pulling his hat down over his eyes, shielding himself from the hot July sun. Georgina headed back inside the house, letting herself bask in the cooler air for a moment before opening the front door, expecting to see a Muggle who had gotten the wrong address.

But it wasn't a Muggle: it was a wizard, and he was pointing his wand directly at her. Georgina's eyes widened and she jumped backwards, reaching for her own wand, but the wizard Disarmed her before her fingers could even reach the wood. "Georgina Taylor," he began, striding toward her, "This can be done the easy way or the hard way. I require some information, and I know that you possess it."

Shocked, unsure whether or not to call out for Skender, Georgina stared up at the man. He was handsome in a brutish way, with slicked-back dark hair and narrowed green eyes. His features were sharp and angular, not unlike Tom's, and the detached look in his eye was similar to his. "Who are you?" she stuttered, taking another step back so that she was pressing herself against the wall.

"My name is Heinrich Schefflur," the stranger declared, and jabbed his wand hard into her throat. "Now, if you cooperate, I will spare your life. Where is Clara Ashford?"

Georgina thought fast; she knew she couldn't scream, but Skender would come looking for her when she didn't come back, and hopefully he would be able to help her. "I don't know," she said truthfully, trying not to betray her fear. "She moved away months ago and I haven't been speaking to her!"

"I find that difficult to believe," Schefflur sneered. "I'll give you one more chance. _Where is she?_ "

"I honestly don't know!" cried Georgina, beginning to squirm in his grip. "We had an argument—I swear I haven't talked to her since February!"

Schefflur's hand abruptly released her, and she slumped to the floor, gasping and clutching her throat, but she wasn't to be reprieved just yet: he merely drew back his wand and ordered, " _Crucio!"_

Georgina screamed, the sound audible for a mere second before Schefflur cast a Silencing Charm and she was quieted, her writhing body the only testament to the blinding pain. He stood over her, his expression twisted in fury. Digging into her mind was easier this way, and he ruthlessly sorted through memories until he touched upon the truth: she honestly didn't know where the Ashford girl was.

Schefflur growled in annoyance and spun around as Skender rushed into the room, finally coming to Georgina's aid. But he was Disarmed almost as quickly as she had been, and Schefflur cast a Body-Bind Curse on him, pinning him to the wall. He was forced to watch Georgina being tortured, silently shrieking and twisting on the floor, tears streaking down her face.

" _Now,"_ hissed Schefflur, teeth bared as he bent over her. "Let's try a bit of a different question: is Clara Ashford a time-traveller? What is her real name?" When Georgina still refused to answer, he lifted the Cruciatus Curse and hauled her up by her hair, digging his knee into her ribs until there was a dull crack. "What year is she from?"

But Georgina only stared back at him defiantly. To give away Clara's true name and circumstances would mean revealing the truth about _herself_ , and the entire wizarding world would go to pieces if the truth were to be found out. She didn't know who Schefflur was or why he was so desperate to get information about Clara, but that didn't matter. Whatever the cost, he couldn't find out the truth.

Georgina could only see one way out of her situation now, and it was something that only a true Gryffindor would be able to attempt. With courage that even she didn't know she possessed, she leapt to her feet, startling Schefflur, and kicked him in the groin. While he doubled back, momentarily winded, she sprinted out of the room, pausing only to whisper to Skender, "I'm so sorry, my love," and kiss him one last time on the mouth before forcing her legs to push themselves up the stairs and into the bedroom, where she frantically scrabbled through the drawers in her-dressing table, searching for the gun that Skender had found when he had first moved into the house.

She was going to die one way or another—it was foolish to hope that Schefflur would spare her. There was no conceivable way he would let her live when he had told her his name and when she knew what he looked like. No, the only way to save Clara was to do something so noble, yet hideously _idiotic_ , that even Godric Gryffindor would be shocked.

If Georgina had more time and been of a less panicked mood, she would never have attempted to do what she was about to. Even now, her brain was screaming at her to escape, to grab Skender and flee the house. But she had no _time_. She could hear Schefflur pounding up the stairs towards her, and she couldn't Apparate away without Skender. She just prayed that he would understand why she had to do it.

Her trembling hands finally closed around the gun, and she lifted it up, turning back to the door where Schefflur skidded to a stop. His eyes widened briefly as she saw her pressing the gun to her heart, her thumb on the trigger—

And Georgina's bravery failed her. She saw the blackness of oblivion, of death, stretching out before her, and she knew she wouldn't be able to actually go through with it. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to stop, and her heart was pounding madly, and she began to lower the gun, never taking her eyes off Schefflur staring in rage at her. Oh, she would die that day, she knew, it just wouldn't be of her own accord.

"What is it?" Schefflur asked her, his voice mocking and his eyes sparking in triumph; he knew that he had won. "Are you too much of a coward?"

" _I am not a coward,_ " Georgina growled, but her shaking voice betrayed her. Schefflur lifted his wand, and she saw his mouth form the word " _Crucio_ ," and she dove out of the way, forgetting about the loaded gun that was still clutched in her hand.

In much the same way as Clara's hand had first accidentally slipped on the Time-Turner when she'd been startled, Georgina's finger slipped on the trigger as she leapt aside.

The gun went off.

* * *

Danielle stared unseeingly down at the mountain of paperwork in front of her that seemed to become larger every second. She had woken up that morning feeling nauseated and with a strange ringing in her ears, as if she was coming down with the flu, and whatever hope she had that it would disappear once she got to work had by now been completely extinguished. She had sat completely still for three hours straight, afraid to even Summon one of the parchments over to her in fear that she would be sick all over it.

Silently cursing Alyssa for getting her sick (she'd visited the Blacks the weekend before and Alyssa had been bedridden) Danielle rested her head in her hands and tried to take deep breaths. She couldn't even visit Tom, as she was sure he would be unsympathetic. Perhaps Bode would let her out of work early…

In the four months that she had been married, Danielle hadn't taken a day off work, not even when it was a dark, cloudy day and she would much rather have stayed in bed with Tom all day instead—never mind the fact that _he_ would be at work as well. They needed the money if they wanted to be able to keep the manor.

So far Danielle loved the new house, which Alyssa had dubbed "Riddle Manor", and although she only used about a quarter of the rooms because it was just so _big_ , she was already thinking of it as home. She was looking forward to curling up in front of the many fireplaces once winter came, and to her relief Alistair and Fawkes weren't fighting as often since they had more room to themselves.

Her relationship with Tom hadn't changed since the wedding, despite her new name as Clara Riddle, which she still hadn't gotten used to saying. He was still as infuriatingly distant and cold as ever, and she was still trying to coax him out of his shell, but there had been rare times when she had caught a flash of something in his eyes that was almost like fondness. He also seemed to be tolerating her friends' presence more than he had previously done, and would even allow Felicity inside the manor, despite Danielle's fears that he would refuse to let a Muggle cross the doorstep. She was daring to hope that he was beginning to reveal himself to her, slow though it was, and now he didn't recoil away from casual hand-holding or physical affection—in fact, he was often the one to initiate it. But even so, Danielle would occasionally walk into the room to see him pacing relentlessly with that emotionless expression on his face, and she would say something that would cause him to delve into one of his brooding moods and he would shut himself off her completely, at least until she managed to bring him back with a kiss or seducing him in a terribly awkward way—she hadn't gotten any better at _that._

The first few weeks of life at the manor had been tense, especially since Danielle had been dreading that Slytherin or Schefflur would discover them, but neither man had turned up anywhere, at least to their knowledge, and Tom would check on the diadem and Cloak more often—wherever they were. He had thrown himself into researching Slytherin and Schefflur, but Danielle was unsure if he'd actually managed to obtain any useful information about them. If Slytherin really _had_ invented an object that would allow the user to travel between different timelines, she wanted to find out as soon as possible. It was frustrating beyond belief that she couldn't tell the Minister about finding the real Holstone in the Thought Chamber, or even that Schefflur had attempted to murder her in Myrtle's bathroom—to do so would be risking exposure of her as a time-traveller, for which the consequences would be even more severe than revealing Schefflur as an imposter. All Danielle could hope for now was that no news was good news.

The only halfway peculiar thing that had caused her to frown in confusion had occurred back in May, when she had sworn that the healing potions in the cabinet had been moved around slightly, and a bottle of Pepper-Up Potion had gone missing. Danielle had questioned Tom about it, but he had told her that he hadn't been anywhere near the cabinet that day, so she was forced to brush it off as her own miscounting. Nevertheless, she kept her eye out for any other strange happenings in the manor—perhaps they had a ghoul or poltergeist she didn't know about.

"Ah, Clara!" a friendly voice called out from the door of the office. Danielle spun around in her chair to see Bode standing next to an exceptionally tall, well-dressed man with sandy hair that was balding at the roots. "How is your work going?"

"Very well, sir," Danielle lied, surreptitiously covering the papers with her arm so neither of them could see that they were all blank.

"This is—sorry, what's your name, again?" Bode asked the man.

"Saxon Scamander," he answered, looking more than a bit embarrassed.

"Scamander?" Danielle asked, realizing too late that the question probably wouldn't be welcome to him. "Like Newt Scamander?"

"Yes, I'm his brother," Saxon replied, looking uncomfortable and a bit resigned, as if he had heard the question thousands of times.

"Mr Scamander is interested in a job here," explained Bode. "I'm giving him an exclusive tour of the area."

Danielle wished she could tell Bode that she wasn't feeling well and just wanted to go home, but didn't want to appear anything less than thrilled with her job in front of a potential employee. Bidding them goodbye, she turned back around and pretended to concentrate on her paperwork.

"Clara Ashford—oh, she was just married so I believe her surname would be Riddle now—is one of our youngest and hardest-working employees," she heard Bode say proudly as the two men filed out of her office. "She's only eighteen…"

"I'm nineteen, actually," Danielle called after him, but he didn't acknowledge her correction. _You're lucky I don't live close to you, Lyssa, or you'd be in for it,_ she thought darkly, slumping back down in her seat.

She only managed to get half a page of work done before Bode came circling back to her office again, whistling to himself and with a slight skip in his step—the tour with Scamander must have gone well. As soon as she heard his footsteps she jumped up and ran to the door. "Sir," she began, "I'm really not feeling well today and I haven't been productive at all. Do you mind if I go home early?"

Bode looked, thankfully, sympathetic. "Of course, Clara. You do seem rather pale. I trust that you will finish your work when you return."

"I promise, sir," she said, but work was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She wondered if he would send the papers to the manor if she took more than one day off.

* * *

By the time she managed to get home and settle into bed, fully prepared to sleep for the rest of the day, it was nearly her usual leaving time anyway. Danielle groaned and stared up at the ceiling, thinking that she could have managed just a while longer and Bode wouldn't have been so disappointed in her. She guessed he would probably end up doing the work himself if he thought she would return the next day.

After half an hour of tossing and turning, Danielle finally managed to fall into a dreamless but fitful sleep, always on the verge of waking up. Dizzy and disoriented, she was awoken for good by a faint but audible pounding on the front door. Ophelia, clearly startled, began twittering excitedly, buzzing frantically around the room. Danielle rolled out of bed and went over to the window, wondering who on earth would need to speak to her this urgently.

She frowned when she saw a familiar mop of red hair on the doorstep—why was Dylan here? Surely he would want to spend the majority of his time with Felicity, since the baby was due in just under two months. Danielle grabbed her dressing-gown and loosely tied it around her waist before pulling her hair back and hurrying downstairs, gripping onto the banister to avoid losing her already precarious balance. As she ran past the grandfather clock she saw that it was nearly six; Tom would be arriving home soon.

"What is it, Dylan?" she asked, throwing open the door and letting him inside. "Is Felicity all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Dylan said, but he looked agitated. "Listen, Clara—Skender showed up at our house just now and was asking where you live. Apparently Georgina's dead."

Danielle's limbs went weak and she had to grip onto the door to avoid falling over. " _What?_ "

"She was killed earlier today by a man called Schefflur. Skender said that he used the Cruciatus Curse on her and tried to force her to give up your whereabouts. When Skender tried to attack him he was Petrified and forced to watch her being tortured. Georgina ran upstairs and he heard a gunshot. When he finally managed to break free he found Georgina's body and no sign of Schefflur."

"Oh, God," Danielle whispered brokenly. "Oh, Merlin… _Georgie._ " And she had fought with Georgina; refused to speak to her. The other girl had done nothing but help her and now she was dead. "So Skender wants to see me?"

"Not quite," answered Dylan. "He…he blames you for it. I tried to talk him out of it, but he says it's your fault that Georgina is dead."

And it was. Schefflur had gone after her friends in an attempt to get at her and Tom. Danielle felt herself turn pale and she rested her head against the doorframe. She remembered her last conversation with Skender: "Either you or him needs to change," he had said. Now, he wouldn't care that she was one of Georgina's best friends. He would see her and Tom as being on the same side now.

"There's…there's something else, Clara," Dylan continued quietly, as if speaking in a lower voice would somehow lessen the blow. "He said, 'I'm going to kill her.' And…and Felicity didn't know. She gave him the address."

"So…you've come to warn me?" Danielle asked. She dimly knew that she was going into shock; she felt as if she was barreling down a tunnel with no way of slowing down and one she knew had a brick wall at the end. "About Skender."

Dylan nodded, wringing his hands together. "Do you know who Schefflur is? I've never heard the name before."

"It doesn't matter," Danielle said, but she could hear her voice sounding dangerously close to breaking. "Thank you, Dylan. I'll find Tom and let him know—"

"Aren't you going to hide?" Dylan asked, sounding worried. "Clara, he's _serious_ about it."

"Yes, I know he is," Danielle said; she had begun to tremble uncontrollably. She remembered the hard look in his eyes when he had spoken to her in Albania after Marigona's death; remembered his warning to her. "Go back to Felicity. Let her know that I don't blame her. It wasn't her fault."

"Are—are you sure?"

"Dylan," she choked, finally losing all sense of composure. " _Go!_ "

And, after one more questioning glance at her, Dylan Disapparated, leaving Danielle alone and staring out at the empty grounds. In the pond across the way, the ducks quacked happily, chasing each other across the lawn, but she watched their antics with unseeing eyes.

Schefflur had killed Georgina. And it was all her fault.

A wave of nausea rose up in her stomach, and Danielle barely managed to dash upstairs before she was violently sick, shaking with the thought that Schefflur would go after Dylan and Alyssa as well. _Damn it—_ she had to warn them—no, she had to find Tom and tell him what had happened—

There was a loud creak from downstairs, as if someone was starting up the stairs, and Danielle froze, putting her hand to her mouth in case she started vomiting again. _Someone was in the manor._ It couldn't be Tom—he was quieter than that—and she could hear Ophelia chirping loudly, obviously still agitated.

Danielle forced herself to her feet; she was shaking uncontrollably and she could barely see as she pulled herself out of the room and into the hallway, coming face-to-face with a towering, bulky figure a foot taller than her.

 _Skender_.

She didn't even have time to scream before his arm swung out and cuffed her hard around the head. Danielle was thrown off her feet, tumbling head over heels down the stairs where she came to a graceless halt in the middle of the entryway. Moaning in pain, a stabbing ache jolting through her stomach, she could barely move as Skender grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, thrusting her into the sitting-room. He slammed the door shut behind them, so hard that she heard one of its hinges snap.

"I told you," he hissed, his voice so close to her ear that he was about to spit, "That you had to be willing to sacrifice _yourself_ if you were truly in… _love…_ " he sneered, "—With Riddle. It's about time you followed through with that."

Danielle managed to open one of her eyes; she was so ill and wracked with pain that she could barely see. But no human expression she had ever seen had ever compared to the look on Skender's face: it was twisted in simultaneous anger and rage, and she could see the outlines of tears still on his face. His fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles seemed about to pop out, and there were rips and tears in his clothing, as if he had pulled at it in his grief and despair. He would almost have been a tragic figure if his face wasn't also displaying murderous fury. "Get up, you worthlessgirl." But Danielle was yanked to her feet anyway and smashed against the wall. She could taste blood in her mouth and feel it trickling down her forehead; she idly wondered if she had a concussion. Skender advanced on her, teeth bared in a feral grimace. " _Të hëngert morti,"_ he snarled, and she didn't need to be able to speak Albanian to understand what he was saying.

"Skender…please…" she tried to tell him. "Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" he said, digging his wand into her collarbone, just above the locket Horcrux. "You're the reason my girlfriend is dead. She wouldn't tell Schefflur where you were, but I intend to kill you before he does."

Georgina hadn't told Schefflur? A jab of guilt stabbed at her, but her attention was briefly diverted by Ophelia, who had been hiding in one of the plants, flying straight at Skender, her tiny claws attempting to scrape at his eyes. Danielle was released for a second, and she poised herself to run, but Skender reached out and grabbed Ophelia, squeezing her in his enormous hand until she went limp, letting out one last, keening cry. He tossed her to the ground, and the Snidget's body fell to the ground at Danielle's feet. "Ophelia," she whispered brokenly, and fell to her knees, stroking the bird's tiny, lifeless head.

"How does it feel?" Skender asked, his voice shaking in the same way as hers was; with mingled pain and anguish. "To have something you love taken from you so quickly? Horrible, isn't it?"

Danielle stared up at the boy who had once been her friend, the boy she had saved from Nurmengard and who had saved her from a Dementor. _Tom was wrong,_ was all she could think. _Love doesn't make you weak. It's the most destructive force there is._

The fireplace flared green in the corner, and Skender whirled around to see Tom, who had stepped calmly out of it. His calculating eyes took in the situation right away: Skender's obvious wrath and unstable mood, Ophelia's dead body, and then to Danielle herself, broken and bleeding. "What have you done to my wife?" he asked quietly, a dark undertone to his voice. It was one of the few times Tom had referred to her as such, and Danielle would have been pleased had the situation been less calamitous.

"Because of your _wife_ ," Skender spat, "My girlfriend is dead."

Tom was quiet for a long time, and Danielle could sense him analyzing the numerous ways he could respond. "I fail to see why you are upset over the death of a girl you barely knew," he said. It was clear—at least to Danielle—that he was also mocking Skender over how little he'd actually known about Georgina.

Skender let out a howl of rage, like a wounded animal, and lunged across the room, but Tom easily evaded his grasp. With one stride, Tom was across the room, standing in front of Danielle and shielding her from Skender. "I am… _merciful_ ," he began, still in a calm tone, "So I will allow you ten seconds to leave the manor before I kill you."

The locket was now blistering with heat, and Danielle screamed, trying in vain to wrench it away from her. "Get out of the way, Riddle," Skender yelled, but Tom refused to move.

The Albanian boy raised his wand, and Danielle saw a bright flash of green—but a large red shape swooped into the room and swallowed the Killing Curse whole, exploding into a pile of ashes on the ground from which a tiny baby bird poked its head out. _Fawkes._

Skender stared, shocked, at the phoenix that had just saved Tom's life. "There is a myth," he began, "That if one dies to save someone else, that person may be spared. Would you like to test that theory?"

 _But Tom can't die,_ Danielle managed to think through the pain; the locket was now burning so hot that she was sure she was about to faint. Through her blurred vision, she saw that Skender was clutching a handful of black powder in his hand. Tom took a step forward, and Skender opened his hand.

The room was instantly blanketed with darkness. Danielle began to choke, stumbling forward and unsure of where to go. "Tom?" she croaked, and just as the powder began to settle, she felt Skender's wand at her throat. Now Skender was in front of her while Tom stared at them from across the room.

Skender whispered something in her ear, two words that almost sounded like a caress, and Danielle kept her eyes on Tom's face as a bright green light lit up the room. The last thing she heard was a rushing noise, and she fell.


	27. Neither Here Nor There

_Pain._

That was all she could feel. One second of blinding, blistering _agony_ —she should be used to this by now, she'd certainly been tortured enough times—and then—

Nothing.

The absence of pain was almost as shocking as the sudden surge of torment had been, and Danielle lay panting on the ground, afraid of breathing too heavily in case that would set it off again. When she was sure that her body wasn't going to explode in torment again, she dared to open her eyes.

She was lying facedown on what felt like a bed of grass—but hadn't she been inside? Danielle slowly pushed herself to her hands and knees, her limbs shaking in spite of herself. The grass that scratched against her palms was bright green and healthy, the colour so brilliant it almost hurt her eyes.

While she stared at it, wondering if someone had cast a charm (although she had no idea why they would) she heard an unfamiliar, wry voice from above her remark, "Admiring the scenery?"

She raised her head and saw a young man, perhaps a few years older than she was, grinning down at her. He was wearing plain black robes, almost like a Hogwarts uniform, but there was no crest emblazoned on his. Danielle glanced down at herself and realized that she was wearing the exact same outfit. Her hand automatically reached up for the locket, but it didn't appear to be there. Her wedding ring had vanished as well. What was going on?

"Am I dreaming?" she asked him.

"Not quite." He took a step aside so she could fully see her surroundings, and Danielle let out a barely concealed gasp.

They were unmistakeably in her family's field—strange how she realized it right away after not having seen it for so long—yet there was no house. The sky above them shone a bright, almost otherworldly blue, just as vivid as the grass. The only thing missing were the birdcalls and sounds of animals from the woods surrounding them.

Danielle shakily got to her feet and turned back to the young man, a question forming on her lips when it died before it even had the chance to turn into sound. She stared at him, certain she had never seen him before in her life…but he looked _familiar_. So familiar, she felt as if she had just seen him yesterday.

He was tall and vaguely handsome, with a mass of curly dark hair falling around his face and muted grey eyes. The shape of his face and the way his lips upturned slightly was one that was so familiar to her. It was like she was looking at the male version of herself.

"William?" Danielle breathed. He nodded, his grin breaking into a true smile. "But… _how_ …?"

"You aren't dreaming, but you aren't awake, either," her brother replied.

Her last memory flashed through her brain: a jet of green light and a whispered curse, a rush of air and then inky blackness…"Dead?" she asked, and William's smile disappeared.

"Almost," he said. "But not yet."

This was the point where Danielle would begin to panic, to scream and search for her wand and find a way of getting back, but she found that she was surprisingly calm. As she marveled over this revelation, she could _feel_ something—a slight tugging just behind her navel, almost like she was traveling on a very weak Portkey. Danielle concentrated harder, and found she could hear too: a quiet whisper murmuring strange words in a foreign language.

"He's trying to bring you back," William said, as if he could hear the voice as well.

"It's no use," sighed Danielle, still in that state of eerie calmness. "Even Tom can't do it."

William made an ambiguous noise and nodded at her. "Look at your hand."

Danielle raised her arm and, astonished, saw that her fingers were becoming less corporeal, almost translucent. She stared at William in shock. "Is he succeeding?"

"In a way, yes," her brother answered serenely. "But even he cannot do it by himself."

"The dead can't come back to life!" Danielle argued. "I was killed!"

"In a different timeline," William began, still agonizingly calm, "or, rather, should I say in your _original_ timeline, Voldemort boasted that he had pushed the boundaries of magic farther than they had ever been pushed. Dumbledore corrected that they were only _some_ boundaries. In your current timeline…Tom has pushed the boundaries of different kinds of magic than Voldemort did, the kind that Dumbledore knew he lacked."

"What are you saying? That he's saving me because he's in _love_ with me? Then why hasn't anyone who's ever loved anyone else been saved?" Danielle challenged.

William sighed, the same patient sigh that she often found herself doing. "Skender didn't wholly kill you, or else we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. He used a weak Killing Curse. It was enough to knock part of your soul into the next realm, but part of it is still back there."

"Other people must have used weak Killing Curses, though," Danielle challenged, crossing her arms. This entire conversation was absolutely surreal.

"But they didn't have one of the most powerful wizards of all time helping to bring them back, either," William replied smoothly. "Besides, that Horcrux is more useful than you think. It has absorbed some of your essence as well. In fact, I would say that it is the main reason why you are not entirely dead."

"How do you know all of this?" Danielle demanded. "Where are the other Hallows, then? Is Schefflur going to go after Alyssa and Dylan next? What should I do about—"

"I don't know _everything,"_ William interrupted. "You must understand that things are different here. The dead cannot predict the future, nor can they communicate with the living except in vague, subtle ways like dreams."

Danielle's train of thought was abruptly derailed as she stared open-mouthed at him. "Hang on," she said slowly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Were _you_ the one who caused me to have those strange dreams when I first arrived in the past? The ones where Mum and Dad were screaming and yelling at you to run?"

He nodded. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out."

"But… _why?_ "

"You had to know," he said simply. "They would never have told you about me otherwise. And it involved Tom. I wanted to make sure you knew as much as possible about him."

Danielle eyed him carefully. "Why are you talking about him as if he's not the reason that you're dead? Shouldn't you be warning me away from him?"

But William didn't answer; he merely laughed at her, and she relented, knowing she wouldn't get an answer. "How long can I stay here?" she asked instead.

"As long as you want," William said. Grinning crookedly, he added, "Although I imagine it would get rather tedious after a while."

"So does that mean we age differently once we're here?" Danielle continued. "I mean…you're supposed to be six years old."

William smirked. "The concept of 'time' is quite different here," he answered. "It's not as linear."

Danielle sighed and looked around the field. She felt peaceful, happy, with a sense of contentment that was foreign to her. And yet…the voice muttering in her head had stopped, but she could still feel that strange tugging that stopped her from giving over to the serenity completely. "I have a choice, then," she mused.

Her brother nodded. "You can come with me, or you can go back."

She stared at him, agonized. "If I choose to stay with you…will I be able to see Mum and Dad again?"

William seemed to hesitate before answering. "Yes."

As strange as it was to believe, a part of her did want to follow him, to go to a place where there was no fear or anxiety or loneliness. She would get to see her parents and Andy, she would get to know William, and she could apologize to Georgina…but she couldn't leave Tom. If he had been here with her, she wouldn't have hesitated. But she knew it was impossible to turn her back on him.

"You and Tom aren't the only ones who will be impacted by your decision," William cautioned.

"Why? I'm all alone," Danielle sighed, staring at their surroundings. The sky shimmered above her and everything took on a slightly hazy quality.

"No, you're not," William countered, a grin again tracing his lips.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, I know you're here. It's just—"

"I wasn't talking about myself," he said serenely, still smirking.

Danielle stared at him, utterly confused. "What do you mean? There's no one else around."

"Not that you can see."

"Are they invisible?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

" _No_ ," he chided gently, and his eyes moved from her face down to her midsection.

Realization slowly began to dawn on her, but she was unable to gasp out anything more than a, "Huh? Are you saying that I'm—that I'm—"

"Two months pregnant, yeah," he said. "You really ought to be more careful with those contraceptive potions. You never know when they might go missing and are replaced with water instead."

Danielle spluttered, "Since when do you know the finer details of my—"

"I do not have all the answers, but I can see more than you," William told her. "It was done on purpose. And that's all I can say about the matter."

But Danielle hardly cared about why it had happened—she cautiously reached out and put a hand on her stomach, as if she had expected it to suddenly start growing. "That's why I've been feeling so sick," she whispered. "It wasn't the flu at all…Merlin, what am I going to do now?" _Tom's baby. What if it inherited the gene for Vetus Periculosus?_

William must have sensed the direction her thoughts were taking, since he was quick to reassure her. "You mustn't worry about that now," he said urgently. "You have far more pressing problems to deal with at the moment."

"Yeah, I know," Danielle said, dazed, "But _still_ …this won't hurt the…the baby, will it?"

"No, since you are technically neither here nor there," he replied. "Like I said, you can stay here as long as you want and nothing will happen."

She stared at him in anguish. "I don't know what to do now, William. Schefflur and Slytherin are both after me, and Tom is likely to kill me by himself once he realizes I'm pregnant. Maybe I should just…move on, with you."

Her brother regarded her sadly now, all traces of humour gone. "And leave Tom alone?" he asked. "What if he turns into something far worse than Voldemort?"

Danielle took a deep, shuddering breath, squaring her shoulders and standing up straighter. "You're right. It would be selfish of me to stay here, even if it means I would get to see Mum, Dad, Andy, Georgina, Dumbledore…"

"Dumbledore?" William asked.

"Yes—isn't he dead too?" She squinted at him again, but William only gave another of those playful grins, back to his cheerful mood.

Just as Danielle was about to press him on why he was being so bloody ambiguous, he took a step away from her. "That was fast," William teased. "You've made your decision already."

She looked at him, uncomprehending , but she soon began to notice that the edge of the woods had gone hazier, like a fog was beginning to cloud them. She saw that her skin was beginning to become more translucent again, as if she was fading.

"How long have I been gone in the real world?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It depends. You'll find out when you get there."

 _Well, that's certainly reassuring,_ she thought acerbically. _What if it's a thousand years into the future? Then again…I probably wouldn't have to worry about Slytherin and Schefflur anymore…_

"Just…remember, Clara, you should not be afraid of death. Going back to the mortal world is the more difficult option," William said.

Danielle smiled at the words. So even he had accepted that was her true name. She reached out to hug her brother, but her hands only passed through empty air. He merely smiled and raised a hand in farewell.

"Wait!" she called, a million other questions suddenly appearing in her mind. "You haven't even told me where we are!" But he didn't answer.

The tugging was growing more insistent, and the field was beginning to fade. Danielle watched her brother become swallowed up by the fog, and her stomach suddenly dropped as if she had stepped backwards over a cliff. The ground abruptly opened up in front of her to reveal a yawning black abyss, and she was immediately sucked into it as the world turned dark again.

* * *

Danielle was slammed back into consciousness, her entire body wracked with pain. She felt as if she had been run over by the Hogwarts Express, and she had to take a moment to remind herself that _no_ , she wasn't dead, she was alive. She was still alive.

But…could it perhaps have all been a dream? Danielle struggled to remember the exact details of William's face, the dazzling colours of the field…but it was already beginning to fade from her memory. Merlin, she should have asked him so much more. She could have asked about her family, if Georgina blamed her, if he could tell her how to evade Slytherin and Schefflur. But most importantly, she just wanted to have talked to him for longer, the older brother that she'd barely gotten the opportunity to meet.

When Danielle felt like she would be able to stand up without her legs giving out, she opened her eyes and forced her stiff muscles to a sitting position, putting a hand to her forehead to quell the dizziness. She wondered if this was what elderly people felt like—as if they hadn't moved in days.

Wait. How long had she been… _dead?_ Danielle felt her heart begin to speed up as she stared around herself. She had been lying on the couch in the sitting-room, but there was no evidence that a duel had ever taken place there. Neither Skender nor Tom was present, but Danielle noted that dust hadn't yet begun to collect on the furniture; perhaps that meant she hadn't been gone for long.

A flash of crimson caught her eye, and she glanced over to see that Fawkes was perched on the arm of the couch, his head tucked under his wing as if he'd been asleep. Seemingly sensing that she was looking at him, he raised his head and crowed softly, spreading his wings and swooping down to her, perching on her shoulder. "Hello, Fawkes," Danielle said softly, wincing at her croaky, scratchy voice. She stroked his head and asked, "Where's Tom?"

He let out another soft cry, but perhaps he didn't know the answer any more than she did. When Danielle had last seen him, he had been a tiny baby phoenix, reborn after swallowing Skender's first Killing Curse. Now he appeared fully-grown again, leading Danielle to believe that she'd been dead for at least a week. Of course, many months could have passed and he would have had many Burning Days, so that really wasn't an accurate method of measuring time.

With Fawkes still on her shoulder, Danielle stood up and walked a bit shakily to the door, appearing in the deserted foyer. "Tom?" she called out, hearing her voice echo across the room. "Are you here?"

She waited for several moments, but there was no answering reply. Even if he _was_ in the manor, he would likely believe that she was an imposter at first, as he had when he'd believed she died after Erik had poisoned her. Danielle felt a pang of guilt as she reached into her robes and drew out her wand which was, thankfully, still present—what had Tom done when he had thought that she was truly dead this time? Could he have gone on one of his murderous rampages instead? She guessed that he would have likely killed Skender, but what about anyone _else_ who crossed his path? "Is Tom in the manor?" she asked Fawkes, but the phoenix didn't give any indication that it had heard her.

Raising her wand, she muttered " _Homenum revelio!"_ but, again, she was only met with silence. The manor was deserted. Danielle wasn't sure whether she should be relieved or worried about that—on one hand, Skender was gone, but on the other, Tom was gone as well. Had he only left temporarily, or had he disappeared for good when he thought she'd been killed? For that matter, why had her body been left on the couch instead of in a coffin or, worse, buried?

Shuddering at the thought, Danielle stowed her wand back in her pocket and went to the front door, hoping that she would be able to Apparate to Dylan and Felicity's to ask them what the bloody hell had happened. But—weren't there laws forbidding pregnant women to Apparate? Danielle felt a rush of blood to her head and she was suddenly hit all over again by the realization that she was pregnant, that there was a baby growing inside of her right now, despite how tiny it may be. And regardless of whether or not it would be afflicted with Vetus Periculosus, it was still hers and Tom's child.

But even so…Mrs Bailey had always said that when she first found out she was pregnant with Danielle, she had instantly fallen in love with her unborn baby, ready to die for it no matter what. That would have been a nice feeling, Danielle supposed, and one she wished she could have. All she was feeling now was shock and dread. Perhaps she would feel better once she knew for sure that it wasn't going to kill her.

Shaking herself out of her sudden melancholy and hoping that she would be able to concentrate on the problems at hand for the moment as William had advised her, Danielle hadn't realized that the door appeared to be locked. She rattled it again, this time even trying _Alohomora,_ but no matter how much force she threw into it or what spells she cast at it, the door stayed firmly locked.

"All right," Danielle muttered to herself as she darted back into the sitting-room. "There has to be a way out of here _somehow_." But the window, like the door, was locked.

It took her twenty minutes and countless Unlocking Charms later to come to the conclusion that she was stuck. When Tom had left, he had sealed the manor so tightly shut that no intruders could get inside—presumably he had been thinking of Alyssa and Dylan. That along with the manor being Unplottable meant that absolutely no one could find her, much less enter the house.

Unfortunately, it also meant that Danielle was trapped inside. She was completely isolated, cut off from the outside world. _Merlin,_ she thought, horrified. _How am I supposed to survive? I'll run out of food eventually, and if I get worse—_

What if she _did_ get worse? The textbook that she had been reading about Vetus Periculosus—written by Schefflur, in fact—had warned that pregnancies would be extremely difficult and many women had died in childbirth. Perhaps that was what happened to Merope and Morfin's mother, Danielle thought with a burst of realization. Morfin had been older, and he hadn't been afflicted, but Merope had…maybe that was what had killed Mrs Gaunt. And then Merope herself had died giving birth to Tom…

 _Calm down,_ she tried to tell herself. _There's a chance that the baby will be healthy._ But were those chances looking very good? If William was to be believed, she was two months pregnant, and she surely wasn't supposed to be feeling this ill so early. In fact, she thought, it had come on so quickly, and even now she imagined she was lightheaded…

Danielle whirled around and hurried out of the bedroom into the bathroom across the hall, where she threw open the potions cabinet and rifled through the bottles, searching for her contraceptive potions. When she grabbed one, she unscrewed the top and poured a bit of it into a cup of water. Her heart sank as she saw there was no change—the potion should have been thicker than the water. It had been odourless and colourless, so there was no way she could have known it had been turned into water unless she'd been actively checking it. But who would do such a thing? She refused to believe that any of her friends would have done it, and certainly not Tom…it had been done on purpose, William had said. So who would _want_ her to become pregnant? Someone who had access to the house…

 _Slytherin,_ she thought with a surge of understanding. If he had been able to get past Tom's wards in the flat, he would have been able to get past the wards at the manor as well. Danielle remembered her dream from when she'd been in 2050; that Slytherin had come back to life and cursed her because she was only a half-blood. This baby, she realized, would be the second descendant of Slytherin who was not pure-blooded. If it was afflicted with Vetus Periculosus, Slytherin's line would continue and Danielle would likely die in pregnancy or childbirth. It would be like killing two birds with one stone.

It was a bit of a long shot, to be fair, but the more Danielle thought about it the more she was convinced it was the truth. That was why Slytherin had stayed away for months, because he didn't want them to become suspicious. And perhaps Schefflur was searching for her because he wanted to see if she was pregnant yet, and if so, what her condition was.

Part of Danielle was proud of herself for having come to this conclusion in the same manner Tom would have, but the other part was too horrified to be pleased. She was only nineteen and unprepared for a child. It was true that she had wanted children someday, but not _this_ early. If Tom ever found out, he would probably force her to get rid of it…but how? If the baby did have the curse—and Danielle had a sneaking suspicion it did—the procedure might be too dangerous for her. Yet she kept circling back to the thought that it was hers and Tom's child. She was going to carry on the Riddle line and become a mother.

The shock hit her all over again at that point, and Danielle stumbled back to the bedroom, letting herself fall onto the bed. So if she was two months along, the baby had been conceived in May—around the time the potions had been switched—so she would be due sometime in February. Of course, that was assuming it was still July of 1946. It could be 2046 for all Danielle knew, but unless Tom had cast a charm to prevent dust from settling everywhere and the papers to yellow with age, it was still relatively recent.

An owl hooted from above her, and Danielle raised her head to see Alistair gnawing at the bars of his cage—he'd been locked in. She'd been so busy trying to open the windows that she hadn't noticed her owl was still very much alive and well, although he did look very annoyed. "Alistair!" she gasped and leapt off the bed, ignoring the sudden head rush, and quickly unlocked his cage. The owl flew out at once, and with an unpleasant roll of her stomach Danielle saw that Ophelia's tiny body was lying on the floor of the cage, as if Alistair had ben guarding it.

The body of her beloved Snidget, who had died trying to protect her, was too much for Danielle, and she burst into tears, slumping onto the floor and digging her nails into her face. Part of her wished she had _stayed_ dead now. Merlin, she could be with her family right now, laughing and talking with a care in the world—or the afterlife. Now that Danielle knew there was something after death other than blank oblivion, that she would be able to reunite with everyone she loved, she was no longer scared of dying. Of course, she certainly didn't want to die a _painful_ death, but there was something remarkably comforting about knowing for sure that this life was not the end.

Unless, of course, she had hallucinated the entire conversation with William and had been in a coma the entire time. The thought was, sadly, not too impossible. Then again, Tom surely wouldn't have left if she'd shown any signs of life, wouldn't he?

With her thoughts spinning in endless, incomprehensible circles, Danielle pulled herself to her feet, wiping away her tears, and began to pace around the room as Tom so often did, muttering aloud to herself. "There must be a way to get out of here _somehow_ ," she mused, rubbing her temples as she tried to think. She couldn't physically leave the house through either the doors or windows; she couldn't Disapparate; she couldn't Floo into Alyssa or Dylan's house; and she couldn't even send a letter to any of them asking for help, since Alistair wasn't able to leave either.

Almost absent-mindedly, she reached up and twisted the chain of the locket around her neck, deep in thought. William had said that a bit of her "essence" had been absorbed by the Horcrux, whatever that was supposed to mean. It was a shame that Tom couldn't somehow sense that she was alive and so he would come back…

But _she_ could see _him_.

Danielle stopped her frenetic pacing so abruptly that she nearly fell over and had to grab onto the bedpost for support. The Horcrux had shown her a glimpse into his mind once, and she'd actually been able to communicate with him, so why couldn't she do it a second time? Granted, he probably wouldn't believe that she was actually talking to him, but if it was enough to make him return to the manor…

She pulled at the locket and twirled it between her fingers, hoping to feel some sort of warmth or even a twinge. They always came at the most opportune times, so why not now? But the metal was cool, and even when Danielle closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could on Tom's face, nothing happened. _Come on, Tom,_ she thought, frustrated. _If it worked once, it'll work again. I'm still here, damn it! You didn't think I was going to give up that easily, did—_

The locket flared up with heat, and she let out a small cry, dropping it back against her neck and wincing in pain; it had burned her fingers. " _Aguamenti,"_ Danielle hissed through her teeth, and a jet of water shot out of her wand, soothing her burnt fingers. By the time the painful throbbing had receded from her hand, the locket had already cooled down. If she had been more cheerful, she would have joked that it was in a bad mood.

A quiet _whoosh_ sounded from above her, and she sank back down onto the bed to see Fawkes land beside her, stretching his neck out and prodding the locket with his beak. "Maybe I should try again later, huh?" Danielle asked quietly. "Tom's probably chatting up the barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron now that he thinks he's finished with me and doesn't want to be disturbed."

The phoenix rolled one eye and made an odd cawing sound, as if it was somehow admonishing her. Danielle grinned ruefully and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Although her mind was racing a mile a minute, she was physically exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a very long time, despite having been completely out during whatever length of time had passed since the duel with Skender. Dying certainly took a lot out of a person, Danielle mused as she closed her eyes, oblivious to the fact that the locket had begun to take on a very faint glow.

* * *

It was still light outside when she awoke, although the sky was a faint pink colour and the sun was facing east—she must have slept the entire night. Her muscles, already sore to begin with, were excruciatingly painful, and she had to hobble downstairs with one hand on the banister the entire time.

Fawkes and Alistair were both already waiting for Danielle when she managed to limp into the kitchen and collapse into a chair. _Merlin, I feel like an old woman,_ she groaned to herself. _And I'm starving, but the sight of food makes me want to vomit. This pregnancy thing isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?_

Her throat felt unusually warm, though she wasn't at all paying attention until the Horcrux gave a slight jerk around her neck, and Danielle, groaning, pulled it out over her robes in case it started burning again. Of course it would suddenly decide to act up when she wasn't consciously thinking about it. She was beginning to wonder if the damned thing didn't have a sense of humour after all.

But this time, instead of simply hurting, Danielle felt her entire body tense forward and she found herself staring at the tabletop, her eyes frantically moving in their sockets without her knowledge. She was suddenly standing on the top of a sheer cliff with nothing separating her from the vertical drop hundreds of feet below. Waves crashed against the rocky shore and as she stumbled forward, trying to see past the spray, she caught sight of another lone figure, back hunched up against the freezing cold even though it was summer, heading toward a gap in the rocks below her. _Tom,_ Danielle thought instinctively, and the figure suddenly stopped and turned back towards her as if it could hear the words. She took a step forward but her feet found no purchase on the grass—the ground had fallen away from under her and she was hurtling toward the ocean, the wind rushing past her hair and the only sound her terrified screams—

She was jerked back to her own body with a startled gasp, but at least this time she didn't spill hot tea on herself. Danielle took a moment to calm down before she tried to think about what she had just seen. It wasn't that she was struggling to figure out where he was—no, she had instantly recognized it, although she had never been there herself. It was the place she had once seen in Billy's memories, the seaside where Mrs Cole had taken the orphans. He had been going into the cave where he'd tortured Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop.

Danielle could think of no conceivable reason why he would possibly be _there_ , of all places, but that didn't matter. She couldn't just sit and wait for him to come back—if he was even planning to at all. She had to act, whether it was to save Tom or to save the poor souls who happened to get in his way. She _needed_ to find him.

Pushing her chair back, half-mad, Danielle nearly flew up the stairs to the library. Although only half the shelves were filled with books, there had to be a solution in one of them. There must be a way out of the manor somehow. Certainly there was a loophole _somewhere_ , and she would be able to find it if she searched hard enough.

* * *

But as the day wore on, Danielle began to lose hope. Nothing in any of the books she read did so much as _hint_ how to get past Anti-Apparition wards or reconnect to the Floo Network. Danielle's eyes were sore and her head was aching by the time she finally admitted defeat and dropped her head onto the nearest book, wanting to growl in frustration. Of course she couldn't outsmart Tom Riddle, no matter how well she knew him. No witch or wizard could.

And that was when it hit her.

Tom, with his extreme arrogance, would never have even considered the fact that other beings, magical or not, had abilities that he did not possess. He would have thought it impossible that any creature would be able to get past his wards, since he believed they were lesser than him. Danielle jumped up, her heart pounding in nervous anticipation. "Tippy?" she asked out loud, staring around the library. "Can you find me?"

Scarcely a moment later, there was a loud crack and the house-elf appeared in the middle of the room, bowing low when he saw her. "Tippy is so pleased to hear from Clara Ashford again! What can I do for her today?"

Danielle was so shocked that she simply stared at the house-elf for a minute, unable to comprehend that her idea had actually worked. "Oh, Tippy," she sighed, resisting the urge to run over and hug him. "You have no idea how much you've just done for me."


	28. Irrefutable Proof

The house-elf's ears perked up and his large eyes seemed to shine even more brightly at Danielle's words. "Tippy is delighted to serve Clara Ashford for as long as she pleases! She was so kind to Tippy at his master's house."

Danielle smiled widely at him. "Can you bring me to London? Er—Diagon Alley?" she asked hopefully.

The elf nodded eagerly. "Tippy would be pleased to, miss!" He held out his tiny arm, but now Danielle was hesitating. There was one flaw in the plan that she had overlooked in her eagerness to find an escape route.

"Do you know if it's…safe…for pregnant women to Apparate?" she asked slowly, choosing her words carefully. She crossed her fingers, wondering what she would do if he said no.

But Tippy was already nodding eagerly. "It is legal until the woman is three months away from the birth. My mistress Apparated all the time when she was expecting her twins."

Danielle sighed in relief. So she would be fine—until she was six months pregnant, at least. But she couldn't let herself worry about that now. She stepped forward and was about to take the elf's outstretched arm when there was a flurry of movement from above her and she looked up to see Fawkes swooping down onto her shoulder. "What are you still doing here?" Danielle asked him. "I have to leave." But he just stared critically at her, as if he was determined to go with her no matter what.

"Does madam require preparation before she leaves?" Tippy asked, seeming unfazed by the fact that a phoenix was going to come along with Danielle.

She shook her head. "I don't think I'm going to be gone very long." _I hope. If Tom's left the cave by now, I've missed my chance._ Danielle reached out and grasped Tippy's arm, closing her eyes as they Disapparated.

* * *

Although the sensation of Apparition had always been uncomfortable to her, Danielle felt absolutely horrible when they arrived in Diagon Alley. She had to brace herself against the nearby dustbins to stay standing upright, and she took long, deep breaths, willing herself not to be sick. Her head spun and her stomach rolled; she'd never been able to stand Apparating, but this time had to be the worst.

"Is madam all right?" Tippy asked worriedly from behind her. Danielle leaned her forehead against the wall and gasped, "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just very nauseous."

When she was fairly sure that she wasn't going to be sick, she straightened up and forced a smile, hoping her face wasn't as green as she suspected it was. "I didn't know Apparating was that unpleasant if you were pregnant," she said, trying to sound lighthearted.

The house-elf looked worried. "It is not supposed to be, madam! Tippy's mistress never had any trouble with it. Perhaps madam ought to go to St Mungo's."

This time Danielle really _was_ sick all over the dustbins. Luckily there weren't many people around to witness her; a group of young wizards passing by gave her slightly disgusted looks, and an elderly witch hobbled over, seeming concerned.

"Are you all right, dear?" she asked Danielle, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Too much Firewhiskey?"

"I suppose so, yeah," Danielle muttered, rubbing her eyes and hoping her stomach would settle. She waited until the witch had hobbled away before turning back to Tippy, who was tugging on her sleeve.

"Is madam ill?" the house-elf asked, his large eyes growing even wider.

"No," Danielle lied, urging her shaking legs forward. "I'm fine." But she knew perfectly well that she _wasn't_ fine. _Perhaps I_ should _go to St Mungo's,_ she thought darkly. Something was definitely amiss. Of course it was normal to get morning sickness, but she doubted it was normal to have it this badly. Besides, it was still quite early on in the pregnancy, and with the way she was currently feeling she wasn't sure how she would be able to last another seven months. Now that she properly thought about it, though, she'd been strange for quite a while: a twinge of nausea here or a spell of dizziness there, but Danielle had been so preoccupied with work and worry that she hadn't paid attention to her symptoms. It had gone as far back as May, around the time the baby had apparently been conceived, and _that_ definitely wasn't normal. In fact, Danielle knew by all accounts that she wasn't even supposed to know she was pregnant yet, but the clues had been dangling in front of her almost from the day it had happened.

It seemed as if someone was always ill: Tom had dealt with Vetus Periculosus for most of his life; Danielle had gotten the time-traveller's curse; and now she was pregnant with a baby that most likely carried the gene for Vetus Periculosus.

She couldn't catch a break, could she?

* * *

After she'd convinced Tippy that she was fine and that she didn't need urgent medical assistance, the house-elf bowed low to her once again before Disapparating away, saying that he must get back to MacDougal Manor before his absence was noticed. Danielle watched him disappear with a sinking feeling; now she would be forced to Apparate by herself to wherever Tom was, and risk becoming ill again. _Although,_ she thought as her stomach clenched painfully again, _That might happen anyway._

She managed to stagger out of the alleyway when she was sure that she wouldn't collapse and stepped out into Muggle London, praying that Billy hadn't moved out of his current flat. Danielle felt a pang of guilt for not writing to him since she'd gotten married; she had never properly thanked him for delivering her wand to Alyssa and Dylan when she'd been sent to Azkaban.

The oppressive summer heat weighed in on her from all sides as she strode down the sidewalk towards his flat, deliberately not looking at Vauxhall Orphanage as she passed it. Fawkes had gracefully swooped off her shoulder as soon as she'd left Diagon Alley, ignoring her calls after him. Danielle watched the phoenix soar away over the rooftops, wondering if he would continue to keep an eye on her or if he was going back to the manor.

As she hurried along the sidewalk toward Billy's flat, the concrete seemed to shimmer under her feet and she could feel sweat already pouring down her face. The sky was a dull, coppery grey and the air was thick with humidity. Danielle wiped a hand across her forehead, hoping that the flat would be cooler than outside.

She crossed her fingers as she ducked inside the building and jogged up the several flights of stairs to her great-uncle's flat. _Please be home,_ she thought fervently as she knocked on his door.

It took a moment before Danielle heard the sound of footsteps on the other side, and it swung open to reveal… _her mother?_

All other thoughts flew out of Danielle's mind as she stared, dumbfounded, at the girl standing in front of her. She had Mrs Bailey's soft blue eyes and mass of curly black hair. "Mum?" Danielle choked, and fell against the doorframe.

The girl, looking worried, turned back into the flat. "William, do you often have intoxicated teenagers showing up at your door?"

"Huh?" Danielle heard Billy reply, and soon he'd appeared next to the girl. "Clara! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside. "Matilda, can you get her a glass of water? She looks like she's about to faint."

"Matilda," breathed Danielle, her heart rate instantaneously slowing. This wasn't her mother, but her grandmother. She'd almost forgotten about Billy's younger sister.

"Sit down," her great-uncle instructed, pushing her onto a chair and kneeling down in front of her. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Danielle said, working hard to compose herself as Matilda handed her a cold glass of water. "I'm just a bit…overwhelmed."

"About what?" Billy asked, his brown eyes wide with concern, but Danielle didn't answer, taking a sip of water instead. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she started drinking.

"Who is she?" Matilda whispered conspicuously. Billy jumped up, looking ashamed.

"I suppose introductions should have been the first thing I did," he said sheepishly. "Matilda, this is Clara Ashford, a friend from Vauxhall. Clara, this is Matilda, my younger sister. She was at another orphanage in London and I took custody of her earlier this year."

"You don't have custody of me anymore," Matilda shot back, but she sounded amused. "I turned eighteen two weeks ago."

"Whatever you say," Billy said, waving his hand impatiently. "Anyway, she's living here until she gets married, which looks like it'll be very soon. She's seeing a bloke called…Patrick Richardson, I think."

"The first and only time you got his name right," Matilda said wryly.

Billy pretended not to hear her, instead turning back to Danielle. "So how have you been, Clara?"

"Well, I'm Clara Riddle now," she admitted. "Tom and I moved into a manor in Norfolk just after the wedding." _Not that you could really_ call _it a wedding._

Billy and Matilda exchanged an awed look. "How did you afford that?" Billy asked.

"Our jobs pay well," she said truthfully, placing the now-empty glass on the table and leaning forward. The water had seemingly soothed her stomach, and now that she was feeling better again her anxiety about Tom was beginning to resurface. "Listen, Billy, d'you mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure," he said, and gave Matilda a knowing look. Luckily, the other girl seemed to take the hint and quietly slipped out of the room. Danielle watched her grandmother leave, remembering the months when she'd lived in Paris as a toddler, and Matilda's terrified screams as the Death Eaters burst into her apartment and killed Patrick right in front of her…

"Clara?" Billy asked, and Danielle was brought back to reality, focusing on his apprehensive expression. "What did you want to ask me?"

"I need to know the location of the cave that Tom brought Amy and Dennis to," Danielle said urgently, aware that she had already wasted far too much time. At Billy's blank stare, she added, "At the seaside that Mrs Cole brought you when you were young. Where was it?"

"Oh, _there_ ," Billy answered, but he was frowning oddly at her. "I don't know the exact location—but it was about a two hour trip from the orphanage. Southeast of London, I think."

Danielle's heart sank; it would be impossible to find with such vague directions. "Can't you remember?" she asked. "Please, Billy. Tom's disappeared, and I'm sure he's there."

"How do you know?" he asked automatically, and then quickly shook his head. "Never mind—pretend I didn't ask. I know far too much about you."

"Like the fact that I'm a witch?" Danielle asked, careful to lower her voice.

Billy flinched. "Yes, that," he said. "I thought you were lying until I received that wand. And it _does_ make sense…Riddle's strange behaviour his entire life…"

"It's true," Danielle told him. "All of it. And you might find that the magical gene is buried somewhere in your family too, Billy." She couldn't help smiling wryly when a look of shock crossed her great-uncle's face. "I just—I need to know where that cave is. Are you sure that's all you know? It's southeast of London by the sea?"

Billy stared intently at her, but she could tell he was thinking hard. "Mrs Cole told us the name but I wasn't paying attention," he muttered. "All I know is that the cliffs were white…it was the only funny thing about the whole place."

"You mean the Cliffs of Dover?" Danielle asked, recognizing his description instantly. When his eyebrows shot up and he nodded, she felt a renewed surge of hope. "So _that's_ where he is, then."

"If you don't mind me asking, why would Tom want to go there?" Billy asked, watching as she leapt off the chair and darted back to the front door.

"I have no idea," Danielle said. "But I promise I'll be back, Billy. I'm just in a hurry right now. Tell Matilda that I'll come back and visit her sometime, all right?"

"Sure," he said. "Are you sure you don't want—"

"I'm sure," she answered. Halfway through pulling the door open, she remembered another pressing question and whirled back around to him. "Hang on—what's the date today?"

"The twenty-fourth of July," Billy replied, looking concerned for her sanity.

Danielle's shoulders slumped in relief; she'd only been gone a week. "Thank Merlin," she said without thinking. Billy grimaced and asked "Merlin?" just as she ran out the front door.

* * *

As soon as she emerged outside into the humid air, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and slipped into the closest alleyway, closing her eyes and preparing to Disapparate. She was just going to have to steel herself for becoming sick again after she'd arrived.

Danielle turned on the spot and mustered up all her powers of concentration, already feeling the horribly constricting sensation beginning to creep up her spine, when something huge and red dove in front of her, causing her to lose her balance and stumble backward, breaking her concentration. "Fawkes!" she gasped as the bird alighted on her arm. "What are you doing back here?"

The bird let out a piercing cry in response and just as quickly took off again, but now he was hovering in front of her, stretching out his tail feathers. "Huh?" Danielle asked stupidly. "I don't understand…what are you trying to do?" But she had already figured it out: phoenixes could fly great distances and carry extremely heavy loads. Could he be offering to fly her there instead?

Well, it certainly would be slower than Apparating, but it was safer. After a moment of hesitation, Danielle raised her arm and grabbed onto his tail, closing her eyes tightly. With an almighty jerk, Fawkes flew upward and soon they were soaring over London, Danielle hanging on for dear life. This was even more terrifying than her ride on Fleetwing the Hippogriff, and just like that time she had to keep her eyes closed or her dislike of heights would come rushing back again.

For several minutes, there was nothing except for the wind rushing past her ears and the steady beating of Fawkes's wings. How many witches and wizards could say that they'd ever hitched a ride with a _phoenix?_ Danielle half-wanted to open her eyes, just so she could see if the view was less terrifying, but before she could make up her mind she became aware of another sound: a low roar was sounding in her ears and she could taste sea spray on her tongue. Danielle cracked open one eye to see water crashing against the shore of the cliffs; she recognized it instantly from the Horcrux vision.

Fawkes swooped low around the cliffs, scaring away the gulls that wheeled over the water, before gently coming to a rest on a grassy bank. Danielle collapsed onto the ground and stroked his head in thanks, wanting to catch her breath. Although she had to admit that the white cliffs were a sight to see, she failed to comprehend why Mrs Cole thought it had been a good idea to bring a group of orphans here. If anything, it would only give them ideas to throw themselves off the edge if life became too difficult.

When her breathing had slowed to its normal rate, Danielle stumbled to her feet and turned back around to see Fawkes, but the phoenix had completely disappeared. She supposed that she shouldn't be surprised by his abrupt departure, but she would have liked him to at least have showed her the way toward the cave.

Danielle felt for the locket, but it was smooth and cool against her throat—she could already tell she wasn't going to get any additional clues this way. If Tom had left, she had absolutely no other way of figuring out where he was. There was too much at stake in this moment, in the belief that he was still around here.

She walked over to the side of the cliff and dropped to her knees, staring across the rock and searching for an opening. She was sure that she had seen an opening in the stone during the vision…and…there it was! Swinging her legs over the side, Danielle dropped down to another outcropping of rock below, wand at the ready in case she fell. How Tom had managed to lure two ten-year-old Muggles down here was anybody's guess; _she_ was a bit nervous herself, and she knew she would be able to cast a Hover Charm on herself if she slipped.

Danielle never took her eyes away from the cave as she slowly edged toward it, disliking the way the seagulls stared hungrily at her as if she was a particularly large fish. She kept waiting for the Horcrux to flare up with heat, but it was surprisingly calm. Either Tom was no longer around, or he was keeping a very tight hold on his emotions. The more volatile he was, the warmer it became. Danielle had learned that from the very first moment it had been placed around her neck.

When she managed to reach the yawning opening of the cave without major incident, she breathed an enormous sigh of relief, fighting back the last of her nausea and dizziness before she pushed off the rock and lit her wand, holding it out in front of her as she slowly ventured into the darkness.

It was much larger than Amy's memory had suggested, and great stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling and grew from the ground like enormous spikes, some on the ceiling looking precariously close to falling. Water dripped steadily along the walls and she could hear the rustling of tiny animals underfoot. "Tom?" Danielle called, and her voice echoed across the walls until it sounded like there was a hundred of her shouting his name. She could hear the yell retreat further into the cave, and she followed it, her mouth dry with anticipation.

There was no noise aside from her ragged breathing and the squeaks of mice all around her; Danielle raised her wand higher and saw a group of bats sleeping above, their wings tucked around their tiny bodies. She resisted the urge to shudder and bravely pushed on forward, seeing that there was a tunnel up ahead. But her heart sank as she realized it became visibly narrower, the ceiling so low that she would have to crawl.

Danielle sank to her hands and knees, still clutching her wand tightly. The ground was wet, shallow indentations in the dirt creating puddles of water, and she could feel it seeping into her robes as she pulled herself through the tunnel, keeping her eyes fixed on the small pinprick of light ahead, the only hope that there was, literally, light at the end of the tunnel.

When she finally dragged herself free, smacking her head on a stalactite in her rush to get free, Danielle staggered to her feet, letting out a stifled gasp at the sight she was met with.

She was standing in an enormous, dark cavern, her wand casting tiny pinpricks of light that reflected off the limestone walls pressing in on either side. In the middle of the cavern was a lake, its surface calm and glassy. Far above her, hundreds of bats fluttered about, the wandlight disturbing their sleep. But Danielle wasn't paying attention to any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the small island in the middle of the lake, on which a tall, lean figure stood. Even from her distance she could tell his wand was pointed straight at her.

"Tom!" she called out to him. "It's me. It's Clara. I'm not—"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence—thick vines suddenly curled around her wrists and feet, forcing her back into the wall. Each vine was adorned with sharp, needle-like barbs that dug into her skin. Danielle cried out, trying to force them away from her, as the locket flared to life, emitting a bright glow. Tom was suddenly in front of her, his wand twisting into her throat, and Danielle stopped struggling, though it wasn't the harm he could inflict on her that she was worried about. It was the shock of his appearance combined with the sudden vision that struck her at that moment, rendering her speechless.

If she had ever thought he looked terrible during his worst bouts of the curse, well, that was a walk in the park compared to his current state. His skin was so pale that she briefly wondered if he was a ghost, and his dark hair, normally so tidy, was as unruly as hers usually was and stuck up in a hundred different directions, as if he had been raking his fingers through it. His hands were visibly shaking, and the circles under his eyes had bypassed purple and gone straight to black. His eyes were wheeling about, as if he was seeing apparitions invisible to everyone else, and he looked dangerously unhinged. _Insane._ There was nothing of his careful control anymore; all that was long gone. Danielle had seen Tom many things, but she had never seen him as completely unhinged as he was right then. His was the face of a man who had lost everything.

This realization came at the same time the next vision did, and Danielle was unwillingly pulled into Tom's mind. Although she didn't know it, she began screaming as soon as it slammed into her. Agony. Despair. Rage. Such were the emotions that were currently swirling around Tom's brain, and they had completely overtaken him. There was no more trace of the rational, logical Tom that had once existed. This Tom was completely animalistic and uncontrollable. Never, not even when he had been under the influence of the curse, had he _ever_ been like this.

And Danielle was screaming, _screaming_ because _it hurt_ , and she couldn't stand it, and she wanted to die, and no normal human being, wizard or Muggle alike, would have been able to withstand Tom's current emotions for any length of time; they were absolutely unbearable—

Everything stopped, and she was back in her own mind again, tears streaking down her face. Danielle was shaking uncontrollably, staring up at Tom, and for once his inner agony was reflected in his eyes. It was grief, her pain-addled brain managed to realize, and for the first time she finally realized the depths of his feelings for her. "Don't," she choked, turning her head to the side. "Never do that again—you're going to kill me—"

" _Who are you?"_ Tom snarled, but his voice was shaking, whether from pain or anger Danielle couldn't tell. She cried out again as his wand dug deep into her skin, and she could feel a warm liquid dripping from her hair down her back. The vines restraining her had loosened slightly, and some part of her subconscious deduced that it was Devil's Snare—it wouldn't harm her unless she began struggling.

"I'm Clara," she whispered. "Skender didn't kill me after all. Look through my mind, Tom. I'm not an imposter."

He glared down at her for another second, and she was struck with the urge to throw her arms around him, to murmur in his ear and whisper that everything was all right—even though it _wasn't_ —and kiss him until she couldn't breathe, and not let go until she'd had her fill. But she couldn't even move an inch, and merely kept her eyes on his as she felt him begin to dig through her brain, starting with her waking up in the meadow and seeing William. He sorted through their conversation—thank Merlin he didn't broach the topic of her pregnancy—and through her waking up on the couch, her summoning Tippy and her subsequent conversation with Billy, all the way to her precarious journey to the cave and her horror at the glimpse into his tortured mind.

Danielle barely realized that the vines had shrunk away from her body, leaving her free. Tom was staring at her, and she didn't dare to make a move. She wasn't sure how long they simply stared at each other, her heart hammering against her ribcage, until she finally, without warning, stumbled forward into his arms. She buried her face in his robes and sobbed uncontrollably, crushing him to her. "I love you," she kept whispering. "I love you."

His arm suddenly circled her waist so that now he was the one holding _her_ while his other hand grabbed her chin and pulled it up to face him. "Clara," he whispered, the one syllable simultaneously like an exasperated sigh and a lover's murmur in one, and that was all Danielle needed: tangible, definite proof.

"You love me," she told him. He didn't answer—he didn't need to. They both finally, remarkably, understood each other. And now she knew that she didn't need his words anymore. Tom was so deeply in love with her that he had been permanently altered when he had thought she was dead, and even now he was struggling to compose himself. The Horcrux's glow had faded to a warm but tangible sensation now, and Danielle wrapped her arms around his neck as she pressed her mouth to his, blissfully unaware of anything but _Tom_.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her fiercely back, but they broke apart far too soon: Danielle tried to kiss him again, but he stopped her by placing a hand to her cheek. "Your brother was right," he said in a low voice, and his eyes softened, losing a tiny bit of that unbearable agony. "Some of your essence _is_ inside that Horcrux. It kept you chained to life."

"How?" she breathed, but she found she could care less about the specifics at the moment.

Tom's hand trailed down her face and throat and skimmed along her collarbone until it brushed against the locket. "When you killed that spy of Grindelwald's in Albania, part of your soul became untethered from the whole. It would have eventually fixed itself back together if it wasn't for the constant presence of my Horcrux. It became like a magnetic pull, drawing it inside until it was fully trapped. It is for that reason, more than Bardhi's weak curse or even my attempts to bring you back, that saved you."

Danielle found she had to struggle to remember the events of 2050; it had seemed like so long ago, part of another lifetime, before she could begin to comprehend his words. "You mean I'm immortal? I created a Horcrux?"

"Not quite. It is much weaker than a regular Horcrux, and it can be destroyed easily. If you were to stop wearing the locket, it would find its way back to your soul and make it whole again. But until then…" he trailed off, an uncharacteristic move for him. He let go of the locket and it jangled back against her throat, the piercing pain dulled to a pleasant warmth.

"So if I'm hit by a Killing Curse again, it won't save me?" Although Danielle was speaking in a low voice, the sound still echoed off the cavern walls.

"No," Tom said firmly. "You are lucky enough as it is." His arms were still around her, and she rested her head on his chest, not wanting to question his sudden possessiveness.

"What happened to Skender?" she whispered. "Do I still need to worry about him?"

Tom tensed at the sound of his name, and his eyes took on a hard edge as he replied, "He is dead."

Danielle shuddered. "Just…tell me you didn't torture him. Please."

But Tom didn't respond, and the silence stretched on until it became almost unbearable. _At least Skender's with Georgina now,_ Danielle thought, but even so, she felt a pang of sympathy for her once-good friend.

"You are bleeding," Tom finally said, and his hand moved to her hair, where her skull still throbbed dully from its contact with the stalactite.

"Yeah, I know," she muttered, and reached up to feel the tender spot, which was caked with dried blood. "But it's nothing. By the way, can you explain _what_ you're doing here, anyway? It's a miracle Billy even managed to remember anything."

"To save you," he answered. "There is ancient magic in this cave. I could sense it from the very second I first stepped foot inside. I would have brought you back, Clara." His jaw was set, his expression so stubborn, that Danielle almost believed it herself. But then she remembered William telling her that even Tom could not do it, and she wondered if he had been correct.

"So why are we still here?" she asked shakily, attempting for levity. "Shouldn't we go back to the manor?"

Tom nodded and released her, but still kept a tight grip on her arm as he raised his wand, pointing it at the entrance to the cavern. There was a loud, shaking rumble, and the ceiling began to cave in, boulders dropping into the space and sealing the cavern shut from the outside world. Danielle ducked, but it had been a controlled explosion: they were standing too far away from the rubble to be injured. Now the cavern was completely pitch-black; she couldn't even see the lake anymore. "Tom?" she asked hesitantly; he still hadn't let go of her arm. "Why did you do that?"

Now there was a hint of his usual exasperation in his voice as he answered, "This way no witch or wizard will be able to find their way inside. After we leave I will place Anti-Apparition wards around the cave—I should like to study it more closely later."

"Er, I'm not so sure Apparating is such a great idea—" Danielle began, but her words were lost as she hurtled through empty space, her entire body feeling as if it was being crushed like paper. When she felt ground under her feet again, she wrenched her arm out of Tom's grasp and fell to her hands and knees, staring blindly at the dirt under them and trying not to be sick again. She was dimly aware they were back at the manor and there was a crack of thunder in the distance—the humidity had finally been broken by a storm— but she wasn't paying attention to it. When Tom hauled her to her feet, she collapsed against him, weak-kneed and shaky. He was bound to find out sooner or later; it was now or never. "There's something else I haven't told you," she stuttered as a bright flash of lightning lit up the grounds.

Tom was silent for only a moment before replying. "What?"

 _Tell him. Tell him now while he's still relieved you're alive._ Danielle couldn't look him in the eyes as she whispered, "I'm…I'm pregnant."


	29. Tenuousness

Danielle wasn't entirely sure how she expected Tom to react: perhaps she thought he would be taken over by a fit of rage and try to curse her; or even that he would go stock-still and stare, uncomprehending, at her. In short, the most characteristic reaction would be for him to snarl, " _Pregnant?_ " at her as he had when she'd joked about it while McLaird had visited their flat back at Christmas. But she definitely had not predicted his mouth to fall open slightly and for his eyes to widen. He dropped his hands to his side, and, in that moment, she could almost have believed he was a normal man being told that his wife was pregnant. "You—you _what?_ " he asked in a strangled tone.

"I'm going to have a baby," Danielle said in a louder, clearer voice. Some part of her was dimly aware that the storm was moving ever-closer and it was beginning to rain, but neither of them made any attempt to move. "William told me I'm two months along, so that means I'm due next February."

She figured that Tom's surprising reaction was due to the shock of the day, and he was more likely to explode once he'd processed the information. "How?" he continued, and already Danielle could see he was beginning to gain control of himself; he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her, but he still couldn't completely disguise the fact that he was taken off guard.

"Well," Danielle said, trying to inject a bit of flippancy in her tone, "I think we both know how it _happened_ —"

"I meant your potions," Tom replied shortly. "Did you stop taking them?"

But Danielle didn't need to answer: she could already feel him beginning to examine her mind, and she let him, thinking of her conversation with William and her subsequent sickness when she had woken up. Tom's grip tightened on her when he learned that the switching of the potions had been done on purpose, and when he'd apparently seen all he wanted he stepped back, now outwardly composed except for his hold on her. "What are you thinking?" Danielle asked, unable to read his expression.

"That you need to get inside," he said curtly, pulling her toward the manor. "After all, we do not want your… _condition_ to get any worse." There was a slight undercurrent of mockery in his tone—although perhaps she was just imagining it.

The storm continued to rage on once they were safely in the manor, but Danielle barely registered the weather. After casting a Drying Charm on herself, she curled up on the couch in the sitting-room, watching Tom warily. He was standing in the doorway, his expression quietly furious. All of his relief at the fact she was still alive seemed to have been overshadowed by this new revelation.

"I'm sure it was Slytherin who switched the potions," Danielle finally said, breaking the silence. "Schefflur wants to kill me, and if I die because the baby has the curse he'll have gotten his wish, plus that would have ensured that Slytherin's line is carried on."

"Perhaps, but that does not explain the fact that Schefflur is searching for you," Tom replied. "Surely Slytherin would have told him where the manor is, if he was able to get past the wards." His jaw clenched, and even a complete outsider would have been able to tell that he was irate about the fact Slytherin had managed to get past his defensive spells not once, but twice.

"Maybe they're not as close as we thought," Danielle mused, but she could already tell that her suggestion was weak. "But…whatever the reason, it's happened, and I don't know what to do about it. And I want to keep it, Tom," she said sternly as he opened his mouth. "You don't get a say in this. We're not living in the one-bedroom flat anymore, and you don't need to take care of it if you don't want to. Which I can already tell you don't."

He clenched his fists at his sides, glaring at her. "And, pray tell, what _exactly_ am I supposed to do if you die? I am not raising a child on my own, much less a child with Vetus Periculosus. You do not understand, Clara. Do you even remember what I was like?"

Danielle had already prepared for this argument. "We have the diadem," she said smugly. "We can cure it as soon as it's born—"

"And what if it is stolen by then? It cannot save you if you die in childbirth like my mother," he spat. She could sense his self-control beginning to unfurl.

"So what do you propose, Tom?" she spat back, jumping off the couch and ignoring the dizziness that shot through her at the sudden movement. "The even greater risk of my death if I choose to get rid of it? Or are you going to turn into your father and abandon your child before it's even born?"

She'd crossed a line, and she knew it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Tom's eyes darkened and he stepped towards her. "I am not my _father_ , Clara," he spat. "I am not such a coward."

Danielle sank back into the couch, relieved he wasn't going to curse her. "I know you're not," she said, more to placate him than anything else. "But whether you like it or not, I can't get rid of this baby. My life is in danger either way—and if not from the baby, then from Slytherin and Schefflur. I'll go to St Mungo's tomorrow and—"

"No," Tom snapped. "They cannot help you. If they discover that it does carry the gene for the curse, you will be sent back to Azkaban for concealing the fact that I did once have it."

"But you cured yourself—"

"They do not care about that. Any potential child of mine is a liability. They will attempt to kill me." His face was as set as stone. Danielle could already tell that they'd reached an impasse.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" she asked, not caring if she was whining. "Go back to work and pretend nothing happened? What if I become seriously ill _there?_ Bode will send me to St Mungo's. But I can't quit because we wouldn't be able to afford the manor anymore."

"Money is not the issue," Tom snapped; he began to pace around the room—Danielle wondered why it had taken him so long to start doing it. "Tomorrow you will owl Bode and inform him that you have resigned."

"Resigned?" Danielle asked crossly. "I'm not resigning—"

Tom continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You are to stay here until I arrive back. Do not contact your friends; if Schefflur is interrogating them, it is best they know as little as possible."

"And let him torture them? I don't think so—"

"I will search the Ministry tomorrow for anything useful. We will leave tomorrow night. Slytherin knows where we are. Regardless of whether or not he has told Schefflur, it is not safe."

"So we're running away?" she asked weakly.

Tom nodded. "Other countries do not have the same laws as Britain. We can evade Schefflur and search for a doctor who will treat you."

He'd always been possessive, but now he was taking it to new extremes. Danielle crossed her arms. "So I'm not allowed to leave the manor at all? Tom, I'm not a china doll," she argued. "I'm not going to break."

"You cannot afford to become ill in public. As I said before, if you are sent to St Mungo's—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Danielle snapped. "And what if I become ill _here?_ How am I supposed to let you know?"

Tom's gaze moved to the locket. "I will know," he said shortly.

Danielle twirled the chain around her fingers. "You mean you saw me when you were going to the cave?" He nodded, and now it was her turn for her mouth to fall open. "That's _brilliant_ , _"_ she exclaimed. "If I practice long enough, maybe I'll be able to communicate with you. So it's like…the bit of my soul that's in the Horcrux is mingling with yours?"

"That is the most logical explanation," Tom agreed. "From now on, Clara, you must use it instead of sending a Patronus or owl if we become separated. It is too easy for those to become intercepted."

 _Yes, my Lord,_ Danielle thought sourly, but didn't dare to say it out loud. From the look on his face, Tom knew exactly what she was thinking.

* * *

She woke up early the following morning, but this time it wasn't from morning sickness—she simply couldn't sleep. Her dreams had been plagued with her running from some unknown threat—she had no idea whether it was from Slytherin, Schefflur, or something else entirely. Danielle remembered what William had told her about the dead communicating with the living through dreams, and wondered if this was some sort of message.

Despite being a light sleeper, Tom didn't seem to be bothered by her constant tossing and turning. He was lying very still, the purple shadows under his eyelids slightly less defined. Danielle guessed that he was recovering from fatigue—it was doubtful he had slept much, if at all, during the past week. Sometime during the night his arm had unconsciously wrapped around her, as if he was expecting her to disappear again.

Danielle reached over and pressed her lips to his jaw; that would normally rouse him within an instant, but this time he didn't move. Smiling gently to herself, she pulled away and quietly climbed out of bed, throwing a treat into Alistair's cage as she left. Fawkes still hadn't returned, and she could only imagine where he had gone.

A gentle mist had replaced the stormy weather outside, floating like a haze above the grounds. Danielle walked over to the balcony and stepped outside, leaning on the railing and hoping the fresh air would chase away the last remnants of her nightmares. She wondered how Dylan, Alyssa and Alphard were doing: had Dylan told them about Skender showing up at his cottage? Even worse, did Dylan think she was _dead_ now? Although Danielle was sure Felicity hadn't known any better, she couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance that the girl trusted so easily. She was too new and too unused to the wizarding world; she probably thought anyone with a wand was out to kill her.

It didn't take long for Tom to follow her. Danielle sensed his presence within thirty seconds of her arrival at the balcony. "What is it?" she asked without turning around. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I was already awake," he said, though she knew it was a lie. Tom ghosted over to stand beside her, his eyes searching her face although she didn't look over at him. "What is it, Clara?" he asked with the hint of a sigh in his voice. "I can tell you are going to speak whether I wish to answer or not."

It was times like these that Danielle could almost believe he was a normal person—a normal _husband_ , even. Sometimes Tom did show a sense of humanity, strange though it would probably appear to anyone else. "I was just wondering what you thought of becoming a father," Danielle said, still not meeting his eyes. "You know, aside from the possibility of the curse. If you were certain that this was a normal baby, would you at least… _try_ …to be a parent?"

Tom was silent for so long that she feared he wasn't going to answer, but just as she was about to press him he finally said, "And when the child is old enough to realize who I really am destined to be, who I really _was?_ How will you explain to them that its father is a," his voice turned mocking, _"Murderer?_ Surely they will not be too pleased with you either, for allowing them to grow up in such a household. I never desired nor was meant to be a father, Clara." And with that, he turned and left, leaving Danielle to ponder over words that she had never even considered.

* * *

After he had gone to the Ministry, Danielle was left, once again, by herself. She was horribly bored: she didn't want to sit and wait twelve hours for him to come home, and her insides were burning with trepidation with what was to come. She had no idea what he was planning or where he intended for them to travel. Perhaps she should begin to pack her things, but every time she glanced over at her empty luggage she thought of something else to worry about. But she knew that she couldn't just leave without telling her friends where she was going. It didn't matter that Tom had forbidden her from leaving the manor: she had to let them know that she was all right—for the moment—but that they most likely wouldn't be hearing from her for quite a while. And Tom had been wrong about one thing: it _wasn't_ impossible for her to go to St Mungo's. There was one Healer there who would be able to help her.

When she'd written a quick note to Bode informing him that she would be taking a prolonged absence from work—but not resigning as Tom had said—and sent it off with Alistair, she went over to the fireplace and knelt down, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. She was wearing the skirt from her old Hogwarts uniform paired with a light shirt, and although her clothes weren't feeling any tighter yet she knew she would have to go shopping for a new wardrobe soon. Sighing at the dreaded thought of spending a day in clothing shops, Danielle threw the powder into the fire and stepped inside. "St Mungo's Hospital, London!" she called out, and to her relief was swallowed up by the flames.

The fact that Tom had used the fireplace to Floo into the Ministry meant that, for now, Danielle could sneak out as well. She was briefly struck by the notion that Tom obviously couldn't have overlooked such an important detail, but quickly brushed it out of her mind. He couldn't very well know where she was, now that Ophelia was dead and the Tracking Charm that had once been on the Snidget was broken.

Danielle felt a wave of sadness for her beloved pet as she walked up to the front desk, suddenly melancholy. She could sense tears building up in the back of her eyes, and quickly smacked them away. This must be one of the sudden mood swings that were one of the most common markers of pregnancy.

The witch sitting behind the desk gave Danielle a bored once-over, seeing that she was in no immediate danger. "Sit down and a Healer will be with you shortly," she said, pointing at an empty seat next to a little boy who appeared to be growing antlers.

"I need to see Healer Wainscott," Danielle pleaded. "It's important."

"Is it?" The receptionist stared at her nails as if she had barely heard her words.

"Tell her Clara Ashford wants to speak to her," Danielle tried again. "Please."

Sighing loudly, and smacking her gum in an annoyed sort of way, the receptionist stood up and disappeared down the hallway without another word. Danielle was tapping her fingernails impatiently against the desk; luckily, aside from the antler boy and an elderly woman whose pupils had turned a deep shade of violet, the waiting room was deserted. She appeared to have shown up on a slow day.

The receptionist returned a minute later, followed by the portly, familiar form of the Healer who had cared for Danielle when she was ill with the time-traveler's curse. "Clara?" she asked, and Danielle nodded, drawing her to the side so the receptionist couldn't hear their conversation.

"I need to speak to you privately," she whispered. "I promise it won't take more than ten minutes."

Wainscott regarded her for a moment before thankfully nodding. "You're lucky I don't have any patients at the moment," she said, leading Danielle into an examination room. "Now, how have you been?" she asked, closing the door behind them. "Do you require the assistance of Georgina Taylor again?"

Danielle winced at her friend's name. "No—I just decided to come to you because I trust you. You're one of the few people who know that I'm a time-traveler, and it's obvious you haven't challenged the Unbreakable Vow. I need to ask you some advice of a different sort, and of course I won't ask you to make the Vow again, but you have to promise that you won't tell anyone why I came here. You're the only one who can help me."

"Oh, Clara," Wainscott sighed. "You're asking me to choose between my work and you again. I helped you once, but I don't want to put my job in jeopardy another time. Then again…I don't see what could possibly be worse than learning you are actually a time-traveler…"

Danielle nodded eagerly. She knew, of course, that Tom would kill Wainscott if he ever discovered that the Healer had let slip anything that had to do with him, but she wasn't planning on telling her that. "So you'll help me?"

"Yes," the Healer said, though not without an undercurrent of reluctance.

Danielle paused for another moment before launching into an explanation of Tom's curse, ignoring Wainscott's gasp of surprise, and described their search for the diadem and his eventual curing of it. "You see, Tom's fine now, but _I'm_ not. I just found out that…that I'm pregnant, and I'm certain that the baby carries the gene as well. It's a fifty-fifty chance…this appears to be on the unlucky side."

"Pregnant," Wainscott whispered in wonder. "Have you had any strange symptoms? Why do you suspect that the baby carries the gene?"

Danielle quickly told her about her apparent on-and-off sickness for the past two months, making sure to emphasize the point that her symptoms were steadily growing worse over time. She could see Wainscott's face morph from one of shock to one of the businesslike Healer she usually was.

"Well," she said when Danielle had finished, "It certainly does sound like you've come away unlucky. But just to be sure, I'll take a blood sample and if it comes back positive, we can discuss your options."

Danielle obediently held out her arm for the Healer to make a small incision in her skin and pour the drop of blood into a small vial. She spun it around a few times before carefully inspecting it, putting a bit of a turquoise-coloured liquid inside. The solution immediately began to hiss loudly, the liquid bubbling up inside. Wainscott made a startled noise before Vanishing it. "Yes, Clara," she said with another heavy sigh, although Danielle already knew the answer. "This baby does carry the gene for Vetus Periculosus."

Somehow, hearing the words out loud made her heart drop. "I figured as much," she replied, trying to keep her voice even. "And I'll be able to cure it the moment it is born—it's not that I'm concerned about. It's the actual pregnancy. All the books I have been reading say that a huge percentage of women die in pregnancy or childbirth and it poses a great health risk to the baby as well."

Wainscott pursed her lips, searching for a way to phrase her next words. "It does," she agreed. "And since, as you say, there is no way to cure the child while it is still inside the womb or to guard you against the curse, you have three options. Firstly, you can get rid of the baby. I do not think it would be harmful to you this early on as long as you are in St Mungo's with access to potions and healing spells. I can even perform the procedure today, if you wish."

Something recoiled inside Danielle at the thought; perhaps it would be safer for _her,_ but the thought of discarding her only hope for a normal family life was unbearable. "And the other two options?"

"We can attempt to induce labour around the six or seven-month mark," said Wainscott. "Of course, it is not without its dangers, and it may cause harm to the baby. However, it does give _you_ the greatest chance of making it through the pregnancy safely."

Danielle gulped; she didn't want to put herself in any more danger if there was a chance she could deliver the baby before she became too ill; on the other hand, some part of her recoiled away from putting the baby in danger as well. She wondered if her maternal instincts were beginning to kick in. Yesterday, she would have been thrilled at the idea. Now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off and she was coming to terms with the idea, she found that, Vetus Periculosus aside, it wasn't such a horrible notion after all. It wasn't as if the manor wasn't large enough to raise a child in…and her young age wasn't given a second thought in these times.

"Lastly, you can continue on as if this was a normal pregnancy. Although it is likely to be very unpleasant for you and you'll probably have to spend a significant amount of time confined to a bed for the latter half of the pregnancy, I don't see any major risks in trying it. Of course, I'll often have to check on you and you must be prepared to go into labor at any time. The risks to both you and the baby are fairly significant as well." Wainscott leaned back, looking at Danielle with no small amount of sympathy and pity in her eyes.

Danielle twirled the chain of the locket around her hands. "I…honestly don't know," she finally said. "I think I need some time to think about it."

"Of course," Wainscott said. "But the sooner you make your decision, especially if you choose to end the pregnancy, the easier it will be."

She swallowed hard and stood up, feeling as if her legs had been turned to jelly. "Thank you, Healer," she said, unable to keep the choked sound of her voice, and fled the office, knowing that she had already made her decision.


	30. Deus ex Machina

Once Danielle was safely back in the waiting room, she took a moment to calm herself down, reassuring herself that at least she didn't have antlers or violet eyes. If she ever came across Slytherin, she was going to kill him herself. He had just made her life infinitely more complicated, and this time she had no bloody idea how she was supposed to get herself out of _this_ mess. And Tom would be absolutely beside himself if he found out that she'd left the manor after he'd explicitly forbidden her from doing it. Then again, who was he to stop her? She had every right to go wherever she wanted. She wasn't a child anymore—in just a few months, she would be responsible for a child of her own.

When she was finally able to think coherently again, she walked straight over to the fireplaces and prepared to Floo to the Blacks' manor, hoping that they wouldn't be too upset at her sudden entrance. Perhaps she would be able to speak to them and get back to the manor before Tom came home, although that didn't seem very likely.

Unfortunately, she'd all but forgotten that Floo'ing was very disorientating as well—really, if this kept up she was going to have to use Muggle transportation—and Danielle tumbled out into their drawing-room, causing Alyssa, who was sitting in Alphard's lap on the loveseat, to shriek and clap her hands over her mouth. " _Clara!_ "

Danielle jumped to her feet as quickly as her muscles would allow and gave them a rueful grin. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I should have given you some advance warning. It's probably not a good idea for me to Apparate at the moment—"

"Merlin, Clara, you scared us half to death," Alphard remarked, thankfully preventing her from an awkward explanation about why she _couldn't_ Apparate. "We're not so popular that we get visitors randomly showing up in our fireplace."

"Where have you been, anyway?" demanded Alyssa. "Dylan's been nearly hysterical about you for the past week—he thinks that Skender is after you for some reason. He won't tell us why."

"He…he hasn't?" Danielle asked, baffled. She was about to ask them what Dylan _had_ indeed said when the doors swung open and Felicity walked in, her stomach larger than ever and carrying a glass of Butterbeer in one hand.

"Clara," she said at once, putting the glass down on the table and moving toward Danielle. "I was hoping I would see you again— _mon Dieu,_ I want to apologize to you. I should not have given up your whereabouts to that boy. Dylan says that you don't blame me, but it is all my fault. I haven't been able to sleep properly for days—"

"Please don't worry about it," Danielle told her truthfully. "Everything turned out fine. And even if it hadn't, well, there's no way you could have known who Skender was or that he wished to cause me harm. Now I'm the one feeling guilty."

"What are you talking about?" Alyssa asked, hopping off Alphard's lap and placing herself between Danielle and Felicity. "What happened to Skender?"

"He wanted to kill Clara," Dylan's voice said from the doorway. Everyone's heads swiveled toward him. "A man called Schefflur showed up at Skender's house in Tirana and tortured Georgina for information on Clara's whereabouts. When she refused to tell him, he killed her. Skender blamed Clara and wanted revenge, but he didn't know himself where she lives, so he came to our cottage and explained what had happened. Fee didn't realize what he wanted to do, so he gave him the Riddles' address."

"Georgina's _dead?_ " Alphard asked, dismayed, as Alyssa glared at Felicity. The girls' relationship had always been frosty at best, and only appeared to have become worse since the announcement of Felicity's pregnancy. Danielle suspected that Alyssa didn't think the Muggle girl was "worthy" enough to be the mother of Dylan's child—and despite how much she tried to hide it, she herself was prejudiced against Muggles.

"Yes," Danielle said with a heavy sigh, interrupting Dylan's answer. "And I don't know who Schefflur is, either. Tom is trying to figure that out right now. I've just been…in hiding for the past week." Lie after lie. How could she call herself a good friend when that was all she did to them?

They all looked concerned; even Alyssa stopped giving Felicity the evil eye. "Well, what happened to Skender?"

"He…he's dead," she replied, at last stating the truth. "I'm not in danger anymore."

"And who killed him?" Alphard spoke up, but something about the look in his and Dylan's eyes suggested they knew exactly who had been the cause of his demise. Only Felicity still looked puzzled.

"It was an unfortunate accident," Danielle said shortly. She sat down on the loveseat next to Alphard, who looked concernedly at her. "One of his spells backfired on him." For all she knew, that _could_ have happened, although it was more likely that the sun had suddenly started revolving around the earth.

A hushed silence fell over the drawing-room. "So you have absolutely no idea who Schefflur is or what he wants from you?" Alyssa asked.

Danielle shook her head. She was growing increasingly more uncomfortable with their questions, and almost wished she hadn't decided to visit after all. At least now they knew that she was alive and safe—for now. "I just wanted to let you know that I might not be around for a while. Tom wants to do some more research and…and find out who Schefflur is and why he wanted to know where I live. So we're probably going to be travelling for the next few months. I'm going to make sure that we leave false clues for him in case he's still looking for us—that way he won't come after you lot as well. If he hasn't yet, I don't think he's going to, but I want to take extra precautions just in case."

Alyssa and Alphard exchanged a long look, and Felicity took a half-step back toward Dylan, as if hoping he would protect her. "Are you sure, Clara?" he asked, sounding dubious. "If there's anything we can do to defend ourselves—"

"No," Danielle said, the word wrenched from her throat. "No, you can't. If he does see that you've defended yourself…then he'll reckon that you _do_ have something to hide, and that'll give him even more reason to come after you."

Felicity gave a small squeak and Dylan squeezed her hand comfortingly. Alyssa didn't argue, but Danielle had the feeling that she was already thinking up a hundred different defensive spells she could use against the manor. Alphard was the only one to put on an air of cheeriness. "So, Clara," he said loudly, and she started, as if she had been in a daze and had just been snapped out of it, "D'you want some Firewhiskey? Dylan and I were just about to have a bottle—"

"Er, would be it all right if I had Butterbeer instead?" Danielle asked, grateful for a change in topic. She took a steadying breath before announcing, "I s'pose I should tell you this before Alyssa hits me over the head with that Firewhiskey bottle when she figures it out: I'm, well, pregnant."

Just like that, the tension in the room was broken: Alphard let out a whoop, Dylan grinned happily at her, and even Felicity gave her a shy smile. "Why didn't you _tell_ me this?" Alyssa shrieked, playfully swatting at Danielle's hair.

She couldn't help but beam back: her friend's enthusiasm was contagious. "I found out yesterday, so it's not as if I've waited _weeks_."

"When is it due?" Alphard asked.

"February," Danielle told him. Before they could ask the inevitable question, she said, "I think Tom's a bit incredulous, though. He's not taking it as well as he could." This, of course, was the understatement of the century, but she didn't want to brave their pitying glances.

"Have you thought of names? Godparents?" Alyssa asked eagerly.

Danielle made a split-second decision. "Since Dylan asked me to be his child's godmother, I think I'm going to ask him to be the godfather. And Lyssa, I hope you're ready to become a godmother."

"Of course I'm ready!" Alyssa said, throwing her arms around Danielle. "Thank you so much, Clara!"

"They'll be in the same year at Hogwarts as our child—as long as ours isn't premature, of course," Dylan said, reaching down to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess they will," Danielle said slowly. "That'll definitely be…interesting." But privately she wondered if the child would even make it that far.

Alyssa Summoned over another glass of Butterbeer to her, and Danielle felt herself slowly begin to relax as she watched her friends laughing and talking around her. They had taken the news of Schefflur better than she expected, just like Tom did when she had told him about her pregnancy. Maybe she was worse at judging people than she thought—so far, her predictions hadn't come true.

Unfortunately, her newfound sense of ease meant that she completely lost track of time, and when she finally looked down at her watch it was after six o'clock. "Bloody hell," she swore, nearly falling over in her attempt to jump off the chair. "I have to get back home."

"Why?" Alyssa asked, glancing sideways at her and smirking. "Do you have a curfew or something?"

"No, of course not," Danielle spluttered, although the comment was much closer to the mark than Alyssa realized. "Tom will be wondering where I am."

"So why not just owl him?" said Alphard unhelpfully. "We have one if you'd like to use her—"

Danielle tried her best to look unruffled by the situation. "I'm not feeling too well, either," she said, although for the first time that day, this was a lie. When the skeptical looks on her friends' faces refused to waver, she began to move toward the fireplace instead, hoping they would get the hint. She could already imagine the look on Tom's face—

"We're almost out of Floo Powder," Alyssa remarked, glancing down into the bucket. "Hang on and I'll get some more." She hurried out of the room, leaving Alphard to put a comforting hand on Danielle's shoulder. His normally smiling, carefree expression had turned serious. "Clara, if you ever need to stay here for a bit, you can come over anytime. You can stay as long as you want—I'm sure Lyssa would love to have you."

"Alphard, I—" Danielle choked on her next sentence. What in the name of Merlin was she supposed to say? Now he thought that she was in an abusive relationship. Granted, he was more correct than he realized, but she didn't want him to think that Tom was preventing her from leaving the relationship. Of course she'd had ample opportunity to do that, but she supposed it was her own fault for whatever mess she got herself into now.

"Oh, hello, Tom," she heard Alyssa saying loudly from the hallway. "I didn't expect you to drop by this afternoon." Seeing that Alphard was still staring at her, Danielle tried her best to keep her face pleasantly surprised, but she wasn't sure how effective it was. The door swung open and Alyssa walked in carrying a bucket filled with Floor Powder, Tom following her. He was still dressed in his Ministry uniform and his face was unreadable as always, but when his eyes met Danielle's across the room she could sense his anger even without feeling the warmth of the Horcrux against her skin.

"I was not planning on it," Tom agreed, tearing his gaze from Danielle and turning his most charming smile onto Alyssa, the one she was sure still made her friend's heart skip a beat despite the fact that she was very happily married. "But I daresay Clara was not planning on visiting either."

This would surely get out of hand if Danielle didn't intervene. "Actually, I was just leaving, Tom," she said chirpily, forcing a smile onto her face.

"She was," Felicity agreed, bravely speaking up for once. Danielle shot her a relieved look—it appeared she was still trying to make up for what she had told Skender.

Tom's eyes flickered to Felicity for a brief second before turning back to Danielle. "I shall—" he began quietly, but Dylan, stepping up to the plate, loudly interrupted his next words. "Riddle, you work in the Department of Mysteries, right?"

Tom looked displeased at the disruption, but kept the blank mask on his face as he replied, "Yes."

"Then can you take a look at one of the Remembralls that Felicity picked up when we visited Diagon Alley? It burnt her hand when she touched it and it's obviously not supposed to do that. Since they're manufactured by the Ministry I was wondering if you could tell what went faulty." Dylan showed him out of the room, and though it was obvious inspecting a Remembrall was the _last_ thing Tom wanted to do, he left anyway for the sake of his image. Dylan gave her a tiny wink as he followed Tom, and Danielle felt her heart expand in gratitude.

She really did have excellent friends. She didn't deserve them. "Remind me to send him a thousand Galleons later," Danielle said fervently as she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The distraction gave her time to get back to the manor and collect her thoughts before Tom returned.

Alyssa looked proud of her twin, but Alphard still seemed unsure. "Are you sure you don't want to stay at our place for a bit, Clara?"

Danielle shook her head. "Believe me, I'm really grateful for the offer, but it's not necessary. I suspect Tom will want to leave as soon as possible tomorrow morning."

"D'you know where you're going?" Alyssa piped up.

"No, unfortunately. Knowing him, I suspect it'll be somewhere like Transylvania," Danielle said wryly. "And please," she looked directly at Alphard, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

His sharp brown eyes stared at her for another moment before he nodded once, wrapping a protective arm around Alyssa. "Then you'd better go before Riddle comes back," he replied. "I don't know how long Dylan will be able to keep him occupied."

Danielle made sure to commit their faces to memory, wondering how long it would be before she saw either of them again, before stepping into the fire and calling out, "Riddle Manor!"

* * *

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that her dearly-bought time to make up excuses for Tom was only causing her to grow even more worried. She paced around their bedroom for what felt like hours, absolutely baffled as to what she was supposed to say to him. She knew she would eventually tell him the truth, but she despised herself for being so afraid of his reaction. Maybe Alphard's suspicions _were_ correct. Maybe she _was_ in an abusive relationship.

No. She knew her relationship was Tom wasn't healthy. It had never been healthy. But then again, their relationship was so odd that she wondered if it could even be held up to the same standards as "normal" relationships. Not many witches had to deal with their, well, _boyfriend_ being a homicidal maniac and wanting to kill ninety percent of the wizarding world, as well as suffering from a hereditary curse that caused him to suffer hallucinatory episodes wherein he would try to kill her. On top of all that, Danielle had known full well what she was getting herself into and had had plenty of time to change her mind and leave him. No, she definitely wasn't the victim here. But Alphard, sadly, didn't know that.

The sun was beginning to set, although the humid, sticky temperature hadn't become any more bearable, by the time Tom finally arrived home. Danielle still hadn't thought of anything to say that would potentially calm him down, and by now just wanted to get the impending row over with. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap and waiting patiently for him to start in on her for being defiant and disobeying his orders.

When he swept into the room, his face was still set in his usual stoic expression, although his eyes were glinting with either vindictiveness or anger. He stared at her for a long moment, arching one eyebrow and not speaking. It was clear that he expected her to speak the first word.

 _Why does he always make me feel like a misbehaving child?_ Danielle thought, sure that she looked every bit the part. "What do you want me to say?" she asked dully. "I went to St Mungo's and then to the Blacks'—"

"You went to St Mungo's," Tom repeated, very quietly. "After I explicitly stated that it was dangerous for you to speak to anyone there. Of course, I should have known to tell you that multiple times in order to make the words enter your thick skull—"

"Actually, I talked to Healer Wainscott!" snapped Danielle. "She already knows that I'm a time-traveller, and she hasn't told anyone yet. Really, Tom, you expect to drag me to some far-flung place on the other side of the world and think that I'm going to trust your judgment yet _again,_ when it's already been proven many times that you're not infallible? I told her about the curse and she promised to help me. Besides, it's not as if she can tell the Ministry—they'll punish _her_ in turn for making the Unbreakable Vow and keeping it a secret for so long. Don't _look_ at me like that!" His eyes were narrowed, sparking in fury as he stepped toward her.

"Time and time again you continue to disappoint me, Clara," Tom said, outwardly calm except for his eyes. "You insist on doing things your own way, yet you foolishly run into danger and claim it as common sense. Then you rely on me to pick up the pieces. It does not matter if this Healer knows about you; this time you did not require her to make the Unbreakable Vow and so she is free to tell anyone she wishes. If McLaird hears about it, he will begin to wonder if Schefflur was right and invite him back into the Ministry, where he will be able to discover where you live. Yet again you fail to think ahead."

"So what do you want me to do? I've already told her that I want to go ahead and try to continue living normally for as long as I can. This isn't _your_ decision, Tom!" Danielle had jumped up, her hands balled into fists.

Now Tom's face twitched, but his eyes were blazing with fury. "Your idiocy is going to cost you one day," he said in a low voice.

"By idiocy you mean compassion!" Danielle cried. "What's so wrong about wanting to keep the baby? It's not as if it's a hopeless case, anyway—Wainscott said that if I'm monitored properly and rest there's a chance that the baby will be born safely and I'll be fine!"

"What if word gets out around the hospital?" he continued, undeterred. "Surely someone will notice that a Healer is tending to you in secret."

"Tom, _stop_ ," Danielle said firmly. "I can do what I want. You're not the one who is going to suffer if something goes wrong."

He looked incredulous. "And what if you die? What am _I_ supposed to do then?" he growled.

Danielle blinked, mystified. "Well, I'm going to die anyway, aren't I? You're going to live forever. What does a difference of a few years make?" She was quite proud of herself for thinking up that one.

A look of surprise flashed across Tom's face—it was brief, but it was there.

She took his momentary distraction to continue, "You know, if you were normal, I would listen to you, because I would think that you were worried about my health. But I'm not naïve enough to believe that it's true. You wouldn't give a damn what happened if I was following your orders. I'm not going to pretend that you aren't in love with me, because both of us know that you are, but your idea of love is a hell of a lot different than mine." Without waiting for an answer, she stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Tom didn't follow her, and Danielle didn't go upstairs for the rest of the night. She stayed in the sitting-room, stubbornly refusing to apologize. If he wanted, he could swallow his pride and apologize to _her._

Of course he didn't, and Danielle found herself curled herself up on the couch, trying in vain to sleep. It was the first time since their wedding that they hadn't slept in the same bed. It was a swelteringly hot night outside, and the cicadas buzzed relentlessly just outside the window. Even after she'd cast a Freezing Charm to cool herself off, her forehead was still dripping with sweat and nothing, it seemed, could alleviate her discomfort. She ended up grabbing a book and fanning herself with it the Muggle way, finding it that it helped, oddly enough, much better than the Freezing Charm had.

Sometime long after she knew she should reasonably have gone to sleep in order to function the next day, she heard a distant fluttering of wings from across the room. Danielle rolled over and lit her wand, idly wondering if Alistair had somehow escaped his cage, but grateful for the distraction all the same.

But it wasn't Alistair perched on the top of the bookshelf: it was a much larger bird with scarlet feathers that were visible even in the darkness. "Fawkes," Danielle breathed, and immediately jumped up, walking over to the phoenix. He gave his customary soft cry and dropped a thick, cream-coloured envelope into her outstretched hands. Danielle flipped it over and held the tip of her wand to the parchment: it was addressed simply _C.R._ It took her longer than it probably should have to realize the sender meant Clara Riddle, not Clara Ashford as she'd been expecting. She still didn't think she would ever get used to her new name.

The handwriting on the letter inside was elegant and scripted, much like Tom's, but she had spent her fifth and sixth years reading this precise calligraphy off a blackboard, and she knew she would be able to recognize it anywhere. But how could Dumbledore write to her? He was dead. Perhaps it was a trap by Schefflur—that was certainly likely, but how would he know which address to send it to? And Fawkes had brought it…surely he wouldn't betray Danielle like this.

Hands trembling, Danielle flipped it over and brushed her finger across the words, hardly daring to breathe:

_Clara,_

_First and foremost, I would like to congratulate you on your marriage to Mr Riddle, and would like to offer my condolences that I did not attend. As I am sure you can imagine, the sight of a supposedly dead professor of Hogwarts might confuse and perplex some Ministry employees. Alas, the wedding gift I have sent you will hopefully make up for my lack of presence these past seven months._

_I shall not launch into an explanation of how exactly how and why I, shall we say, tricked the wizarding world into thinking I had met an unfortunate end—that is another story for another time, and the answer will take many more pages than I am sure you would be willing to read—but I can say that I am alive and well, and doing all it takes to prevent our dear friend Salazar from carrying out the task he has been planning. He and Vikram are both hidden in the farthest reaches of Europe, and rest assured that I have been keeping a close watch on both of them. However, enclosed in the envelope you will find another object I have created you may find useful. From the false clues I have given them, I suspect it may be a year or even more that they are following the false trail. However, I urge you and Tom to stay cautious at all times. Slytherin is extremely shrewd, and I fear that he will be the first one to uncover the plot._

_On a happier note, though, I wish you and Mr Riddle all the best. You are stronger together than apart, and I have no doubt you will make a formidable partnership._

_-Albus Dumbledore_

Danielle was so shocked that she had to read the letter several times over, each time gleaning new information. So Dumbledore had faked his death. He had sent Fawkes to her—no wonder the phoenix had been so insistent in helping her. Best of all, it sounded like he was cautiously optimistic about the Slytherin and Schefflur situation, although Danielle couldn't help but notice that he had referred to Schefflur as "Vikram". Was he still unaware of Holstone's true identity? It was difficult to tell with Dumbledore.

When she had gotten over the initial shock of the letter, she realized that there was another object inside the envelope that appeared to be another sheet of parchment. Danielle carefully lifted it out—it was delicate and she feared it would rip in her hands—but once she had gotten it safely unfolded it suddenly jerked itself from her hands and lifted itself into the air. Spidery black lines began to reveal themselves on the once-blank parchment, slowly materializing into what Danielle assumed was a map—or rather, a _drawing_ of a map. As it grew clearer and clearer, she recognized it as being southeastern Europe, with Istanbul in the centre. Two red dots were placed just outside of the city, one labeled "Schefflur" and the other "Slytherin".

So Dumbledore had known that Schefflur was only masquerading as Holstone. And he had somehow found (or created) this map that would reveal their current whereabouts. So he _wasn't_ actively searching for her at all. She didn't need to worry about it.

But…if this was the case, _why_ wasn't he searching for her? He had been willing to go to the extreme length of killing Georgina to obtain information about her whereabouts, so why had he suddenly given up now? He and Slytherin looked as if they were together at the moment, wherever they were, so why hadn't Slytherin given him her location? Dumbledore's letter was hardly more helpful; it was comforting to know that he was trying to help them, but he hadn't been able to stop Georgina from being killed.

Danielle was so relieved by the letter that she decided to swallow her pride and show it to Tom; it was better to break the tension sooner or later, since she knew that their silent argument could go on for days if she just sat back and let it fester. So she dashed up the stairs to their room and gently pushed the door open, noting with some surprise that he hadn't locked it.

Of course, he wasn't asleep—she had guessed as much. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in the same spot that she had been when he'd last entered the room, and his head bowed. He was staring at something that dangled from his hands—something bright gold.

"Tom!" Danielle gasped, unable to mask her surprise. He didn't turn to look at her. "Is that a—why do you have a _Time-Turner?_ How did you get it?"

"From the Ministry," he said curtly. "I went to see the real Holstone and he explained how to traverse the defensive spells in the Time Room. Schefflur and Slytherin likely have a Time-Turner of their own, and I can counter any of their actions if I also possess one."

"But they're not coming after me now," Danielle said, slightly breathless. She fought the urge to snatch the Time-Turner out of Tom's hands and throw it out the window. "Fawkes brought me this." She handed him Dumbledore's letter and the mysterious map. Tom took them from her outstretched hand suspiciously. Danielle waited with baited breath for him to finish reading, each second that passed causing her heart to beat even faster. "So?" she asked when he finally put the map down after having examined it for an agonizingly long time. "What do you think?"

"I suspected Dumbledore was not dead," Tom replied, but nothing in his voice suggested he was pleased about that fact. "The map is useful, but it does not tell us what Slytherin and Schefflur are doing. Perhaps you should write back and say that it is not detailed enough." An acerbic tone slipped into his voice at his final words.

"Well, do you know what this means?" she said, trying to mask her growing feeling of frustration. "Since we know where they are, we don't need to leave. I'll stay here and there will be less stress on the baby from travelling. I'll make sure I can Floo to St Mungo's at a moment's notice."

"Stay here and wait for _what_ , exactly?" Tom asked. "The warning that you will receive if one of them returns to England will only be a few minutes at the most—"

"But you can continue to work at the Ministry under McLaird's protection!" Danielle cried. "Perhaps that will stop them from harming me if they know that you'll go to the Minister about it. And Dumbledore is keeping a close eye on them as well. He'll help us—"

"—He did not help Miss Taylor," Tom said flatly, getting to his feet. He regarded Danielle for a moment, his eyes glowing, and for once she couldn't tell what he was thinking. After a moment he held out his hand and dropped the Time-Turner into hers, leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead. "Keep it," he said. "There will come a time when you need to use it again."

"Hang on," Danielle called, spinning around to watch him leave the room and begin down the staircase. "Where are you going? Why aren't you still angry at me?"

"I shall be back by morning, Clara," he replied. "There is a certain…person whom I wish to speak to." But before she could run after him, he had disappeared, leaving her to wonder whom exactly he wished to speak to at three-thirty in the morning.


	31. Miracle

Elspeth Wainscott had never given much thought to marrying or having a family. Her work _was_ her family, and she was perfectly content to live on her own. She knew that, if she were ever to marry, her work would take precedence over her husband, and she couldn't think of many men who would be accepting of that.

However, some part of her was nevertheless unhappy that she had never gotten a chance to live a "normal" life, normal meaning that she would wake up next to the love of her life and not have to worry about intruders breaking into her flat in the dead of night. So she was understandably startled when, after getting home well past midnight after a long shift, she came back home to find a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room, wand pointed directly at her.

Wainscott automatically shrieked before grabbing her own wand and preparing to fire a Shield Charm, but the figure had already stepped forward and Disarmed her. Although he was nearly a foot taller than her, the cast of his features were much younger than she expected—and she did, in fact, recognize him straight away. "Tom Riddle?" she gasped. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?"

"I think you know very well what I am doing here," he said, and all of a sudden she was chained against the wall, his wand pressing into her throat. "You do not need to fear harm unless you disobey my orders. Understand?"

She could do nothing but nod shakily, while her heart was pounding frantically. If she didn't know better, she would think that the curse had taken over him again: but that was impossible. Clara had said that he was cured. Wasn't he?

"I am allowing this… _child_ to live for two reasons," Tom continued, his voice soft and silkily smooth. Despite the fact Wainscott was decades older than him, in a less dire position she might have noted it as attractive. "First, because it will make Clara happy, and therefore less likely to disobey me. Secondly, it will keep her out of a job for at least a year, and I do not wish to have her meddling around in the Ministry. Now, since she has already come to you and you have assisted her once before, I am giving you the benefit of the doubt in this matter. If, for any reason, her life is threatened by that of the child's, you must terminate the pregnancy, disregarding whatever else she pleads. Is that agreed?"

"Y—yes," Wainscott gasped, her eyes filling with tears.

"Good. Secondly, you must do whatever is in your power to make sure that she suffers as little as possible. She will try to martyr herself for the child—do not let her. I already have to deal with her stupidity at home." Tom paused, searching Wainscott's face carefully. "Lastly, you may not tell anyone that you are assisting her, or that she is even your patient. If you follow these rules, your life may be spared."

"I…I swear," the terrified Healer whispered, nodding vigorously.

"Swear to me," Tom hissed, and she let out a pained cry. Her face was beginning to turn blue. He made sure to search her mind to ascertain that she was telling the truth before loosening his grip, allowing a mildly satisfied expression to cross his face. " _Obliviate_ ," he whispered.

* * *

Felicity went into labour at the very end of September, on the coldest day of the autumn so far. Danielle was trying in vain to tend to the garden, watering what little remained of the flowers from the summer. She had taken up the hobby of managing the wilted plants that the previous owners of the manor had left behind, and found, surprisingly, that she quite enjoyed it.

But perhaps the most surprising shock was that her pregnancy was going even smoother than she had hoped for. Of course, there were the occasional days where she became so ill that she literally could not leave the bed, and she was often exhausted and withdrawn, but all in all she wasn't half-dead as she had feared she would be by this point. Wainscott visited her every week, and Danielle could tell the Healer was just as surprised as she was. "You might just be able to make it through this, Clara," she'd exclaimed the last time she'd seen Danielle. "You ought not to even be able to walk by now." Danielle had brought up the subject with Tom and gone through a long list of possible reasons as to why she might not be as ill as she thought she would, until he had finally told her that he suspected the symptoms were less severe because he himself had already been cured by the time he'd fathered the child, although it couldn't escape the gene completely. At any rate, Danielle was delighted by it, and Bode had grudgingly accepted her request for maternity leave, although Danielle was sure she wouldn't be seeing any congratulatory messages from him anytime soon.

Tom constantly had Dumbledore's map in his possession. They hadn't heard from him again, but Danielle preferred to think that the reason for his continued silence was that no news was good news. He wouldn't risk the discovery of their correspondence by sending them too many letters. According to the map, Schefflur and Slytherin had stayed in Istanbul for the remainder of July, before moving to Ibiza and then Greece during August. Danielle had joked that they were taking a holiday, which only earned her an unimpressed glance from Tom. They had currently been in Rome for the past two weeks, and she tried not to think about the fact that they were moving steadily and steadily closer to England. Whatever the case, they had chosen to stay in the shadows for the time being, and despite Tom's pessimistic view that they were playing right into Slytherin's hands by allowing Danielle to continue on with the pregnancy, their life was largely undeterred. Danielle often visited Alyssa and Alphard or Dylan and Felicity during the day, and found that they were a welcome distraction from the anxiety about Slytherin and Schefflur. She knew that if she were to be cooped up in the manor all day, she would be worrying herself sick about the baby and her own health, so she decided to take up menial tasks such as gardening and decorating the manor. Although she couldn't move as quickly as she used to, and she became tired quickly if she did too much walking or exercise, it provided her with much-needed calm.

Dylan, as usual, Apparated directly onto the grounds, since he was one of the few able to see past Tom's wards. "Clara!" he called, waving his arms frantically and dashing toward her. Danielle straightened up and turned around, tucking a curl behind her ear and frowning at him. She automatically smoothed her coat over her rapidly growing torso—she hadn't shown at all until late in the summer, when she swore she had gained twenty pounds overnight. The moment she had complained about this to Alyssa, her friend had whisked her to Diagon Alley to buy her heaps of new clothes that she was sure she couldn't wear all of them even if she were to have ten children.

"Hi, Dylan," she said. "Has Felicity gone into labour yet?"

"Better!" he cried. Up close, Danielle could see his tired eyes and rumpled clothes. He looked as if he'd been awake for days on end. "She just had the baby this morning! It's a girl. Merlin, I can't believe I actually have a _daughter_ —we had to use the local Muggle hospital, of course, since she can't go to St Mungo's. Lyssa suggested that we nickname her Pippa, and I think it's a perfect name. Fee and Pippa are both sleeping at the moment, and of course Lyssa and Alphard are already there, but I just wanted to tell you—"

"Breathe, Dylan," grinned Danielle. "Do I get to meet this new goddaughter of mine?"

"Of course," he exclaimed excitedly. "You can come see her right now, if you want to."

" _Of course_ I want to," Danielle teased. "How was Felicity?"

Dylan shrugged, pulling at the collar of his shirt and giving a nervous laugh. "The first thing she said after Pippa was born was that, erm, she told me that I wasn't to come within ten feet of her ever again, but I'm hoping she'll change her mind."

"I'm sure she will," said Danielle, beginning to head for the front door. But when Dylan stopped on the step and stayed frowning at her, she remembered that it wouldn't be possible to Floo into a Muggle hospital. "I s'pose we'll have to Apparate, then?" she asked, trying to conceal her sudden wariness. She hadn't Apparated since she and Tom had returned back to the manor after their reunion at the cave, and Wainscott had strongly advised her against it numerous times.

"Yeah," Dylan replied. Noticing her hesitant expression, he added, "You can Side-Along Apparate if you want. I know you have a few more months before you need to worry about anything."

 _You mean that I should have started worrying a few months ago,_ Danielle thought darkly, but against her better judgment she took Dylan's arm and closed her eyes, swallowing hard to suppress any nausea that was beginning to claw at her insides already. She tried to tell herself that she'd been doing fairly well over the past several days, and she'd been feeling noticeably stronger.

But Dylan, in his eagerness to get back to his wife and newborn daughter, jerked Danielle's arm a bit too hard, and she barely had time to steel herself before she was squeezed forward into the suffocating darkness. Although the feeling barely lasted a second, she emerged on the other side completely off-balance and immediately sank to the ground, landing on her hands and knees.

"Merlin, Clara!" Dylan cried from above her. He grabbed her shoulders and heaved her up as she leaned back against his shoulder, watching the clouds above her twist and spin in her dizziness. "What's wrong? I'm sorry if that was too abrupt—"

"No, it's not you," she managed to gasp, willing the earth to stop spinning around her. "I just shouldn't have Apparated. I guess you could say that I have a few…complications."

"Well, we're at a hospital now," Dylan soothed, although he didn't seem to consider the fact that a Muggle hospital could hardly provide her with the care a regular witch would need, let alone the care a witch with a potentially life-threatening pregnancy would need. "Can you walk?"

Danielle wasn't so sure about the answer, but she managed to totter forward up the front walk, keeping her eyes fixed on the dull yellow building looming up in front of them. The hospital was more of a local doctor's office than anything else, since Great Hangleton, despite its name, wasn't a very populous village at all. In all honesty, it was hardly larger than Dylan and Felicity's cottage.

They stepped inside into a small waiting area; the receptionist, who looked every bit as bored as her counterpart at St Mungo's, pointed them into a small room just down the hallway where Dylan almost pushed Danielle out of the way in his excitement to see Felicity again. She stepped to the side so he could go in first, but ended up having to lean onto the wall for support as her legs suddenly buckled underneath her. The dizziness still hadn't quite disappeared, and she was beginning to feel increasingly nauseous.

But Danielle had dealt with the time-traveller's curse for months before she'd finally collapsed—surely she could survive this. Ignoring her sudden light-headedness, she continued forward into the small room, where Felicity, looking exhausted but thrilled, was sitting up in bed holding a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Sitting next to her were Alphard and Alyssa, who both appeared ecstatic. "Oh, there's Clara," Alyssa said, enthusiastically waving her over. "Let her hold Pippa," she instructed Felicity, as if the mother herself had no say in the matter.

But Felicity seemed all too happy to hand Pippa over to Danielle, who cradled her awkwardly in her arms, remembering when she had first held Luana. It was surreal to think that it had only been a year since she and Tom had been in Albania. If she had been told then that she would be pregnant within twelve months of her first job, she wouldn't have believed it.

Pippa's face was still red and wrinkled, her eyes half-squeezed shut as if she couldn't open them properly yet. Danielle caught a flash of green as she turned her head to the side, confirming that she did have Felicity's eyes. But the fuzz of hair on top of her head was most definitely red, and Danielle was certain that it would eventually lighten to Dylan's carrot-orange. "She looks exactly like both of you," Danielle said truthfully, but quickly handed her back to Felicity in case her legs gave out again.

"She has my nose," Dylan said happily, stroking Pippa's head. "And Felicity's lips. She is going to be gorgeous when she grows up."

"I thought you said she looked like you," Alyssa joked, for a moment sounding like the teenager she still was, and the twins began their customary banter again. Danielle, however, couldn't concentrate on their playful argument, as she was suddenly struck by a sudden wave of trembling and she had to sit on the edge of the bed to steady herself. This was not missed by Alphard, who looked at her worryingly. "What's wrong, Clara?" he asked.

"Nothing," Danielle lied, gripping tightly onto the bedpost to steady herself. But his face was beginning to blur out of focus, and her dizziness had returned with a vengeance. She felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of her and she knew that if she stood up, she would fall right over. "Actually, I think I need to go to St—" she began, but couldn't even finish her sentence before a blinding pain shot through her stomach, as if someone had punched her in the torso. Her arms wrapped around herself with the last of her strength before she slumped onto the floor, feeling her consciousness quickly rush away from her.

* * *

Danielle woke to a soft, pulsing white light just above her eyelids, and wondered for a moment if she had died again. But the light was too sharp to be the "entrance to heaven", as her Muggle grandfather had referred to it once, and besides, her body was far too sore for her to be dead. There was a sharp ache in her stomach that rather distracting, although thankfully it was much more bearable than the sudden anguish that had overtaken her at the Muggle hospital.

"Oh, good, you're awake, dear," a kindly voice that she recognized as Wainscott's said from across the room, and Danielle struggled to prop herself up on her elbows as she squinted against the light. She was in a private room at St Mungo's, similar to the one she had spent three months in while she was in a coma, and relief immediately rushed through her at the thought that at least someone had taken action quickly enough.

"What happened?" Danielle asked, but her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton and she struggled to get the words out. There was a slight movement beside her and she turned her head to see that Tom was standing next to her bed, his expression absolutely furious. But he wasn't glaring at her—he was staring at her stomach as if he thought it personally responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.

"You were nearly killed," he said through clenched teeth. "The effects of Apparating nearly killed both you and the… _child_." As usual, his voice spat out the word "child" with thinly veiled contempt.

"Yeah, I guessed as much," she sighed, settling back onto the bed. "How long have I been in here?"

"About eight hours," Wainscott said as she fluffed up the pillows. "But it appears as if you'll be staying here for at least the next week. You can barely move as it is. We attempted to terminate the pregnancy and save you, but that proved to be impossible. To do so would certainly kill you."

Danielle froze; her gaze flickered back and forth between Wainscott and Tom. "You tried to stop it?" she asked in a small voice. "But I told you that I didn't want to—"

"I had no choice," Wainscott told her. "As a Healer, my top priority is my patient. Either you lived and the child did not, or you both would die. Fortunately, despite our efforts to intervene, both you and the child are alive. It's truly a miracle."

" _Our_ efforts?" Danielle said sharply. "Tom, did you try to…terminate the pregnancy as well?" She couldn't think of a more subtle way to say it.

"Yes," he said unashamedly. "Believe me when I say I tried very hard." His lip curled, and Danielle wondered if he was more upset about the fact that she was still pregnant or the fact that his magic hadn't worked for this particular aspect.

"I have never seen anything like it before," Wainscott added. "Your life is inextricably tied with the child's. If one of you were to die, the other would as well. Perhaps it is a coping effect of the curse—the mother cannot die as long as she is still with child. It would indeed lend an explanation as to why Slytherin's line has survived this long, and why so many women die giving birth. As soon as her life is no longer attached to the baby's, her body collapses under the stress of the pregnancy."

 _That would certainly add another reason why Skender didn't kill me,_ Danielle thought. "So…I'm immortal now?" she half-joked, earning a hard glare from Tom.

"I wouldn't say that," Wainscott replied, patting her shoulder. "Remember that this is just a theory that Mr Riddle put forward. At any rate, you do have the potential to experience severe agony, and I daresay that would be worse than death."

"It definitely would," Danielle mumbled, and stared blankly up at the ceiling. "Believe me."

* * *

As it turned out, she had to stay the next three weeks at St Mungo's. It was mind-numbingly dull, and she found that she was unbelievably bored even before the first week had passed. Of course, Alphard and Alyssa visited often, usually staying an entire afternoon, and Dylan even made a few appearances with baby Pippa, although he was clearly busy at home. Tom also saw her every evening after work, although he never lingered more than an hour and Danielle was sure he wasn't going back to the manor either. He was on some mission of his own, although she had absolutely no idea what that might be. He was either spending nights at the Department of Mysteries as well, working to uncover any secrets that might give him clues as to what Slytherin could possibly be doing, since the Ministry's records went back hundreds of years, or he was secretly travelling at night and looking for Schefflur and Slytherin himself. Whatever the reason, he looked pale and drained most of the time, although he hid it well, and was even quieter than he usually was, always seeming as if he was pondering some complicated thought. Danielle knew that their relationship had become even more strained than usual since he had found out about her pregnancy, but this was really taking it to new extremes. She was so worried about Tom's sudden reticence that she had even asked Alyssa for advice, and with a sly wink in her eyes her friend had told her not to be fretting, that there was only so much they could do in the narrow hospital beds. Danielle had forced a laugh, but her anxiety hadn't abated one bit. She couldn't wait to be released so that Tom wouldn't be able to disappear anymore—at least, not so easily.

Wainscott finally, reluctantly released her as October was drawing to a close, but instructed her not to venture too far outside of the manor or work herself too hard. She needed to rest as much as possible, which sounded quite nice at first but Danielle had learned the hard way that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Boredom was not a very enjoyable state of mind, as welcoming as it sounded.

Since Tom was at work (though Danielle suspected he would not have welcomed a distraction) Wainscott Floo'd with her back to the manor to make sure that she was settled back in at home safely. Danielle felt like an invalid as the Healer tucked her into bed, with Alistair squawking over her and dropping a dead mouse into her lap as a welcoming gift. Fawkes, mercifully, stayed out of sight. Wainscott had been remarkably agreeable with all she knew, but it certainly wouldn't last forever.

After Danielle had managed to convince her that she was feeling perfectly fine and could walk up and down stairs on her own, Wainscott left, muttering something about how she should be getting paid a lot more for all the work she did, and Danielle began to straighten the house up again. It was clear that Tom had not been here in a long time, and if he had, he certainly hadn't bothered to tidy it up. Her plants in the garden outside had all wilted one by one from lack of water and many had wilted or frozen. A nest of spiders had somehow managed to find their way into the kitchen and Danielle spent most of the morning chasing them out. Now the only question remained was exactly where Tom had spent the past three weeks if he had rarely been at the manor. Danielle scribbled him a note saying that she was back home and sent it off with Alistair, giving him his first task in months. The poor owl had become bored after his recent break, and Danielle thought sadly that she could understand the feeling all too well. She wanted to go back to work, to help Tom with whatever it was that he was obsessing over again, but her condition was too much of a liability now. She grudgingly had to admit that it would do her no good to start sticking her nose into anything now, and all she could do was brace herself for another four months of monotony.

At least Slytherin and Schefflur were still in Rome, and it was a great comfort to think that Dumbledore was out there somewhere, working behind the scenes.

While she was tidying the house, feeling frustratingly like a twentieth-century Muggle housewife—she was even _pregnant_ , for Merlin's sake—Danielle came across a stack of newspapers in one of the spare bedrooms. Well, she supposed that it wasn't a _bedroom_ , per se—the only piece of furniture in it was a dusty old table—and she quickly pushed thoughts away of how it would make quite a lovely nursery, concentrating instead on the newspapers. The dust that had collected on the floor was noticeably absent on a line across the middle of the room, and Danielle would have bet everything she owned that Tom had been pacing around here sometime. She grabbed the first paper on the pile—it was dated the day before—and not expecting to find anything of interest, was about to throw it back down when her eyes caught a small headline on the bottom of the front page. Quickly stifling a gasp out of habit, Danielle lifted it back up to her face:

_**Is the Minister Corrupt?** _

_By Invidia Skeeter, Ministry correspondent_

_Reports have been circulating during the past months that our very own beloved Minister, Lorcan McLaird, isn't the wonder wizard we imagine him to be. A source close to the Ministry has exclusively informed the_ Daily Prophet _that McLaird has been offered large sums of money to act as the puppet of an as yet unnamed powerful source, and that he might be acting under the Imperius Curse. Stay reading for more updates and developments as they occur!_

Danielle dropped the newspaper, her heart suddenly hammering. It would make perfect sense if McLaird was corrupt; she had guessed that something was off about the Minister from the second she had met him. But who was he controlling? Who was the "unnamed source" inside the Ministry? And what sane person would go to _Invidia Skeeter_ to write the story?

"I did," Tom's voice said behind her, coolly amused, and Danielle spun around in shock, realizing that she must have been talking to herself aloud.

"Why are you here?" she demanded. "Shouldn't you be at the Ministry?"

"McLaird dismissed the Unspeakables early after he was informed of the article," Tom answered. The wide smirk on his face left her no doubt as to who had been the unnamed source. "He is going to investigate every Ministry employee to discover who was speaking to the _Daily Prophet_."

"And what if he finds out that you spoke to them?"

"He will not," Tom said confidently. "He would not punish me even if that were the case. I have been promoted twice in the past month, and I am certain that he requires me for something important."

"You—you've been promoted?" Danielle stammered. "Why?"

"I told you, Clara, McLaird requires me for something," Tom said with a bit of annoyance. "He is under the Imperius Curse, and he has been for quite some time. I suspect that he is under either Slytherin or Schefflur's command, and that I am being promoted under their orders."

Danielle was stunned. "So you let this slip to _Invidia Skeeter?_ "

"I knew she would be useful eventually," Tom replied smoothly. "If her claims are taken seriously, McLaird will be examined and perhaps the real truth will come to light."

"Is that why he offered us jobs at the Department of Mysteries, then?" Danielle asked. "Or why he was so quick to trust Holstone and send you to Azkaban?"

Tom nodded. "It has taken me nearly two months to provide adequate evidence for Invidia to publish the story. I am also working on another project as well, which should be completed soon."

"What project?" she said, but he easily deflected her question. "Now, even if you are healthy enough to be released from St Mungo's, you still ought to be supervised at all times. As I have neither the time nor the desire to care for you at the present moment, I am sending you to the Blacks' manor for an indefinite period."

"You're _sending_ me to Alyssa and Alphard's?" Danielle asked in shock. "Why?"

Tom sighed in disdain. "Perhaps your hearing has been altered as well as your mind. I am not going to leave you alone, Clara, and since I am certain that you will undoubtedly land yourself into a dangerous situation if you are not supervised, the Blacks will surely be able to keep an eye on you. I have just returned from speaking to them, and they are prepared for you to move in later today."

Danielle was admittedly pleased that she would be able to spend more time with Alphard and Alyssa, but she couldn't help feeling that Tom was just passing her off to them, as if she was a troublesome problem that he didn't want to burden himself with. "Do you want to get rid of me?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as insecure as she felt.

His smirk, which had been present during their entire conversation, only widened. "I need to concentrate on the task at hand without any distractions."

"I'm hardly a distraction," Danielle said; he raised a challenging eyebrow in response but didn't speak.

She waited a moment to see if he would relent, but when the silence stretched on she was forced to give up, and headed towards the door. "I suppose I'll see you later, then," she sighed, and reached up to kiss him quickly. But Tom didn't pull away immediately; his hand grabbed her wrist, and his lips lingered on hers longer than she had been expecting.

"Sometimes distractions aren't so bad," Danielle whispered breathlessly, and stood on her toes so she could kiss him again.

* * *

As it turned out, she stayed at the Blacks' for the rest of the autumn and into the winter. Alyssa and Alphard were more than happy to have her there, and Danielle found that her boredom melted away when she was taking a walk with Alyssa, or playing wizards' chess with Alphard. The atmosphere in their manor was a simpler, more pleasant one than living with Tom's constant intensity and broodiness, and Danielle felt that a bit of lightheartedness was exactly what she needed.

Tom visited her quite often, and although he was still secretive about whatever "project" he was working on, it appeared to be going well from what she gathered about his facial expressions and tone. McLaird still hadn't discovered that it was him who had given information to the _Daily Prophet,_ and, indeed, several more articles had been published by Invidia Skeeter pertaining to McLaird's supposed dishonesty, and three of his aides were ousted as having been smuggling illegal dragons from Romania to sell to unsuspecting Muggles, resulting in their deaths. Danielle had no idea how Tom had managed to obtain this information, but she supposed that if he could steal a Time-Turner (which was currently sitting in the bottom drawer in her temporary bedroom) he could certainly unearth top-secret information if he searched the records hard enough. He told her that he believed Slytherin and Schefflur were controlling the Ministry from a safe point on the continent, and that they weren't likely to come back to Britain when there was so much attention placed on the corruption of the Ministry. Danielle felt that they were safe for the moment, but there was no telling what would happen if they ever found out that Tom was the one who knew what they were planning.

She was sent to St Mungo's twice more—once after she nearly fainted after tripping on a flight of stairs and tumbled down, landing right on her stomach; and once after she woke up horribly ill on Christmas morning. Both times she was released within a day, Wainscott telling her that she needed to slow down and not try to do everything at once. Just before she left the second time, Danielle burst into tears and sobbed that she was sick of being pregnant and everything that came with it and she just wanted the baby out of her right there and then. Wainscott had given her an encouraging hug and said that there was nothing she could do about it and that it would be worth it once she saw the baby. _If I ever see the baby,_ Danielle thought mutinously as she'd stomped down the corridor afterwards, wishing that she had a husband who would comfort her, like Dylan comforted Felicity whenever she felt overwhelmed with Pippa. But Danielle knew that not having Tom around her all day was better than the alternative; they would drive each other absolutely mad if he had to deal with the hormones that had begun to kick in during the last months of her pregnancy. Many times Alyssa had had to comfort her while she cried in the middle of the night or calmed her down when she snapped at the slightest thing. By the time Tom's twentieth birthday and 1947 were in clear sight, Danielle was beginning to understand Felicity's orders that she didn't want Dylan to touch her ever again—she was going through hell, and she hadn't even given birth yet.

By January, Danielle was now finding it so difficult to walk that she barely went downstairs, let alone leave the house. All Alphard and Alyssa knew was that she had complications with the pregnancy, and Wainscott was now visiting every day to check up on her. Danielle hadn't gained an excessive amount of weight, but her arms and legs were beginning to look skeletal, and her cheekbones were nearly as hollow as Tom's, making her stomach look larger than it actually was. Wainscott told her this was because since the baby was growing every day, it needed more nourishment than a regular, healthy baby would and so it was literally sucking Danielle's strength from her, like some sort of bizarre vampire. It was painful for her to even sit up in bed, and she hated feeling like an invalid, having to clutch on to someone if she wanted to stand up. She was now beginning to regret refusing Wainscott's intervention earlier, and was seriously considering telling the Healer to get the baby out of her, no matter what happened. Each day felt as long as an eternity, and she was beginning to realize that one long, steady stream of tolerable pain was better than a quick burst of absolute agony. She now had a newfound respect for Merope Gaunt and every other woman who had carried a baby with Vetus Periculosus. _If they got through it,_ she kept telling herself _, So can I. At least Slytherin and Schefflur aren't after me. I wouldn't get as far as the door if I tried to run._

On an extremely cold day at the beginning of February, shortly after an ice storm that crippled the entire country and left the ground little more than one enormous sheet of ice, the end finally, _finally_ arrived. Danielle had gotten progressively worse since the middle of January, and in fact she could feel herself begin to drift in and out of conscious, unsure what was dreams and what was reality. She knew Alyssa had sat with her for a while and talked with her cheerily, trying to make her feel better, but Danielle could barely concentrate on her words. Wainscott had told her that since she was entering the last stage of the pregnancy, the curse was beginning to take over _her_ body as well, rendering her almost immobile.

Tom had seen her the previous evening, but he had been unsympathetic towards her. Danielle had barely managed to say more than a few sentences, and in fact she wasn't sure if he'd stayed longer than ten minutes. "You brought this upon yourself, Clara," she dimly remembered him saying, and although she knew he was right she still had the urge to slap him again.

She woke up the next morning with an odd fog in front of her eyes that wouldn't disappear no matter how many times she tried to rub her eyes, and her stomach kept making odd flip-flops, as if the baby kept turning over and over. There was a faint pulse behind her eyes that hadn't yet erupted into a headache, and her extremities were beginning to go numb.

"Alyssa?" Danielle called, but it came out sounding almost pitifully quiet. "Alphard?"

But her voice didn't carry far enough; neither of them showed up, and she was forced to stay lying down while the numb feeling began to spread across her entire body. The throbbing in her head had intensified, and she couldn't even move her head. She was completely paralyzed.

Danielle wasn't sure how long she lay prone, her mind racing a mile a minute and trying to figure out how she could alert Alyssa and Alphard that something was very, very wrong, when a sudden shock shot through her body, and her frozen muscles tensed up. Her breathing became shallow and she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling—at least until a roaring pain stabbed through her head, and she fainted.

* * *

Voices swirled around her; there was an agonizingly long time between her actual hearing of the words and her subsequent processing of them. Now there were thousands of little stabbing pains—not just in her head and her stomach, but through her entire body. Was she having the baby? Was she dying? Who was talking to her?

"… _She's been in pain for the past four months. What makes you think that this is anything different?"_

 _I can still hear you,_ Danielle managed to think, but her frozen mouth couldn't manage to speak the words aloud. She could _feel_ , that much was certain—but she wasn't sure if she was moving or not. It was as if someone had cast a Body-Bind Curse on her.

"… _Look at her, Alphard! She's never been this bad. You need to find Tom somehow. I'll bring her to St Mungo's—"_

" _How? You can't carry her, much less Floo her in! The fireplace won't fit both of you. I'll go find Tom and you bring that Healer here—"_

" _And leave her alone? What if she needs my help? I'm strong enough to carry her."_

" _No, you aren't! You're not even five feet tall, and she's almost a head taller than you! Besides, it's made even worse now that you're—"_

" _Have it your way, then! Go find Tom and ask him what to do!"_

" _He works in the bloody Department of Mysteries! How in the name of Merlin am I supposed to find him?"_

" _Send him an owl! Tell his supervisor that you need to speak to him urgently! I don't know—figure something out!"_

There was no reply from Alphard, at least none that Danielle heard. Silence pressed in all around her, and she kept waiting to black out again, hoping that the darkness would overtake her again—but nothing happened, and she was trying her hardest to scream, to tell Alyssa that _yes_ , something was wrong, that she had no idea what was happening to her.

Now the pain had turned all-consuming, and it was washing over her in waves, each one stronger than the last and refusing to recede. Something gave way inside her muscles, and all feeling rushed back into Danielle's limbs as she began to yell and thrash around on the bed. She could feel tears streaking down her face and she tried to open her eyes, seeing nothing but a bright mass of red—whether it was blood or Alyssa's hair, she wasn't sure.

Something clamped down on her chest and she struggled against her bonds, thinking inexplicably of being caught by Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest so many years ago. Or was it just last week? She couldn't remember when it had happened; in fact, she could barely remember her own _name_.

Now there were more voices around her; one she recognized as Alphard's, and then Tom spoke. Danielle turned her head toward the sound of his voice, feeling his cool hand press on her neck as if he was feeling for a pulse. "…Going into labour…" Alphard was saying. "She needs to get to St Mungo's…"

"A very acute observation, Mr Black." Tom was no longer even pretending to be polite anymore; his voice dripped with sarcasm and contempt. Danielle tried to reach for him, but the hand on her throat disappeared and she had no way of communicating with him. "I am very pleased that you have been taking such good care of my wife—"

And then the greatest wave yet of agony hit Danielle as hard as the Cruciatus Curse, and this time she actually did black out, hoping fervently that she would never wake up.

* * *

Everything was muffled. Danielle could dimly hear noises around her, some more frantic than others, but they were as distorted as if she had been underwater. Her thoughts were oddly much slower than usual, as compared to their wild pace seconds—or had it been minutes, or hours?—beforehand, and she had to fight her way through the haze clouding her brain.

She was still in pain, but luckily it, like her senses, was oddly dulled. It had become bearable, and she was able to think through it, flinching at the remembrance of the anguish. Merlin—Alphard—had it been Alphard?—had said that she was going into labour. But what if her body couldn't take the stress anymore, and she died the moment the baby was born? Wainscott had warned her that might be the outcome, and Danielle had thought she could handle it.

No. She had been wrong. She couldn't handle this.

Meanwhile, the voices around her were growing louder, although Danielle still couldn't separate individual words. Her thoughts were becoming quicker, and to her dismay the pain was becoming more intense as well. She tried in desperation to push herself back into the numbness, to dull the pain, but that only sped up the process, and she broke the surface of the water with a shudder and a loud gasp, in much the same way as she had woken up after she'd been cured of the time-traveller's curse.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she heard Alyssa say, and Danielle opened her eyes just in time to see her friend slump down into the chair next to the bed, her hands covering her face. It took her a moment to realize she was no longer in her bedroom at the Blacks' manor; instead, she was lying in a delivery suite at St Mungo's, complete with a crib next to her bed and a light green, patterned wallpaper instead of the usual white paint.

Tom was standing on her other side, his face unusually pale and his eyes bright. "Tom," Danielle whispered, and this time she was able to lift her hand up so she could intertwine his fingers with hers. He didn't make any move to pull away, which told her that he really must be worried if he hadn't even bothered to scorn the gesture. "What happened?"

"You went into labour," Wainscott said from across the room, and Danielle's head snapped around, her heart leaping into her throat as she realized that she was holding a swath of blankets, through which a tiny hand was poking out. "Your friends managed to get you to the hospital just in time. I'm astonished that both of you made it through the delivery, but then again I know that you are a survivor."

"Both of us?" Danielle asked in a small voice; she couldn't take her eyes off the Healer—or rather, what she was holding. It was difficult to believe that the child, the baby that had been such a burden to her the past nine months, was no longer inside her and she was completely free.

"It is a boy," Tom said. He didn't even look over at the baby. "You have barely been in the hospital for an hour."

Drying off the baby—her _son's_ —face with a towel, Wainscott bustled over and Danielle craned her neck to catch a glimpse of him. "I just weighed him—he's perfectly in the normal range and appears to be healthy enough, although he hasn't cried once." This appeared to worry her, but Danielle was too preoccupied to tell her that Tom had barely cried when he was an infant, either.

"Can I hold him?" she asked, letting go of Tom's hand and giving Wainscott a pleading look. "I promise I'm strong enough."

The Healer still seemed dubious, but she reluctantly placed the heap of blankets into Danielle's arms, and the new mother smiled down at her son, whose eyes were wide open and fixed onto hers with a piercing gaze that was almost unsettling in its resemblance to the look Tom so often gave her. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, exactly the same shape and colour as his father's. "He has your eyes," Danielle whispered, lifting up the baby's head to show Tom, who appeared uncaring. "See?"

"And your hair," Alyssa spoke up, peering out from between her fingers to point at them. Danielle followed her gaze and saw that she was indeed correct: his head was already covered with wildly curly dark hair, much like her own, and his ears stuck out slightly in the same way that Danielle's did. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, Clara," she continued. "I could have _died._ "

" _You?"_ Danielle shot back, ignoring her dry, sore throat. "I beg to differ."

"Now, now, that's enough," Wainscott scolded gently, plucking the baby from Danielle's arms and holding him out to Tom, who refused. Looking disappointed, she then gave the baby to Alyssa, who looked slightly disbelieving as she stared down at her godson, cradling him as if he were made of glass. Danielle was feeling well enough by this point to sit up, and for the first time noticed that the blankets and her hospital gown were splattered in blood. Her stomach rolled slightly in a weak echo of nausea as she stared down at the crimson sheets.

"That's a…that a lot of blood, isn't it?" Danielle asked weakly, trying and failing to take her eyes away from it. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't actually been conscious during the birth; it resembled a very bloody crime scene.

Beside her, Alyssa was understandably looking traumatized. "Don't worry, dear," Wainscott said happily. "I can assure you that ninety-nine percent of births here at St Mungo's are done without the witch feeling any pain at all. Clara here was just unfortunate."

"You're telling me," Danielle mumbled. She reached for Tom's hand again and stared plaintively up at him, mouthing the word " _Diadem?_ " at him. He inclined his head very faintly, and she felt a rush of relief. As soon as she was let out of the hospital, they would cure him. She did have to admit that his lack of crying thus far did sound like a very tempting tradeoff.

Wainscott, not having noticed their little exchange, was bustling around the room, making it as comfortable as possible for its new inhabitants. "Have you picked a name yet?" she asked Danielle, who shook her head.

She hadn't even thought of names or clothes for the baby—she hadn't let herself get her hopes up that high. But now that she was actually pressured to think about it, the perfect one popped into her head as if someone had actually placed it inside. "How about William?" she asked, her voice croaky and hoarse. "And Andrew. After my brothers. William Andrew Riddle."

Tom regarded her for a long moment before giving a slight nod again. Danielle managed to weakly whisper, "Don't worry—I promise I won't call him Billy." Tom did not look amused in the slightest, and she laughed quietly.

"How about Will?" Alyssa suggested, watching Wainscott gently lift him down into his crib; his eyes had closed and he appeared to have fallen asleep. "It's not such a bad nickname."

"Lyssa, you're fantastic," Danielle said, grinning at her. "First you come up with Pippa, and now Will."

"Well, it's hardly difficult," Alyssa replied modestly, but looked flattered all the same. "I'm just so happy that you and Will are both fine. It looked like it was a bit uncertain for a while there."

"It's a miracle," Danielle heard Wainscott say, and as she stared down at her sleeping son, she couldn't help but agree that it certainly was.


	32. Spirit

Danielle was released from St Mungo's two days later, on the condition that she wouldn't overwork herself and let her body repair itself from the battering it had gone through during the past nine months. Miraculously, she had managed to stay at the hospital unnoticed, although she was sure that Wainscott's high-ranking position allowed her to conduct her work with a certain degree of privacy. Nevertheless, Danielle profusely thanked her for all her assistance, both this time and the last, and it was with a noticeably light heart that she and Tom Apparated back to the manor, Will clutched in her arms.

When they reappeared at the front doors, the snow glistening over the grounds, its reflection from the sun so bright it hurt one's eyes, Will gave a small cry—one of the very first sounds he had made. His blue eyes snapped open, locking onto Danielle's with no small amount of trepidation. "You don't like Apparating either, huh?" Danielle asked him, tightening the blankets around him in case he was cold. "Well, you'd better get used to it."

Tom hadn't held or, for that matter, called Will by his real name once. He was always referred to as "the baby" or "the child" with disdain, and he spoke of Will as if he was a tiring plaything that Danielle would grow bored of eventually. She had known, of course, that Tom was less than thrilled about her pregnancy and that he despised children, but she had foolishly thought that seeing his own son for the first time would be different. Alas, Tom had already strode up to the front door and disappeared inside without a glance back at his wife or child. Danielle swallowed hard and, taking a moment to compose herself—her mood swings unfortunately still hadn't abated—walked inside after him.

Alistair swooped down to greet them, landing on Danielle's shoulder and inspecting the new arrival. Will was bundled up so tightly in his blankets that he could barely move, and the only feature to indicate that he wasn't just a pile of linen were his bright blue eyes, eyes that were far too mature and focused for a two-day-old. _Merlin,_ Danielle thought. _He looks more aware of the world than Pippa, and she's five months older than him!_ Then again, didn't all new parents believe that their children were special and that they stood out from the rest?

"Tom?" she called up through the manor, stepping into the foyer. "Where are you?"

But he didn't respond, so she started up the staircase, taking each step carefully and cautiously in case she tripped, which would be just her luck. The corridor upstairs was deserted, as was their bedroom. Perhaps he was off brooding somewhere, Danielle figured with a frown. She would wake up one morning and find that Will had been carted off to Vauxhall Orphanage.

Pushing thoughts of her enigmatic husband out of her mind for the moment, she concentrated instead on figuring out a room for Will. They had plenty of spare rooms in the manor, but Danielle wanted his bedroom to be close to theirs in case something happened. She took several steps down the hallway, figuring out possible locations—until her eyes landed on a door that was slightly ajar across from their bedroom; the same room where Tom had kept his stack of newspapers. Thoughtfully, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, expecting to see the old, stuffy room—but was met with an entirely different sight.

The walls were painted a light, pale blue, like the colour of the sky on a summer's day, and the stone floors had been replaced by a plush carpet. A pair of matching blue curtains were pulled over the window, under which there was a large mahogany chest, and a crib stood in the centre of the room, adorned with pictures of owls, cats and toads. Danielle was so shocked that she nearly dropped Will, and stared around the room with her mouth open. This couldn't be possible. How had the room gone from being an abandoned room to a decorated nursery?

"It was Black and MacDougal's doing," Tom said from behind her, and Danielle turned around to see him glaring around the room, his lip slightly curled. "They offered to furnish and pay for everything."

"And you let them," she said in awe; no wonder Dylan and Alphard had only visited her a few times—they'd been too busy furnishing the nursery. "Merlin, Tom…I can't believe it." She strode over to the chest and, placing Will in the crib, pulled it open to see piles of neatly folded baby clothes stacked in it. "This is absolutely _perfect_."

"I daresay it amused them for a quite a while," Tom said dryly. In her sudden, giddy delight, Danielle rushed over to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips happily to his. She could feel him smirk against her as he pushed her against the wall, his hands sliding into their usual spots on either side of her waist. They hadn't touched like this for months, and Danielle found herself realizing just how much she missed it as her fingers tangled in his hair, sliding down his cheeks and to his jaw. She could feel the beginnings of stubble against his skin, and buried her face in his neck after he'd pulled away slightly, breathing in his familiar scent. She hadn't been this happy in a very long time.

"I love you," she whispered, and his hands reached for her robes. Both of them were breathing more loudly, their eyes taking on a frenzied spark, and Danielle was just deciding whether to ask if they should move to the bedroom when there was an impatient yelp from the crib and both of them turned to look at Will, who was thrashing about in his crib, his head turned toward his parents as if he had known exactly what they were about to do.

Danielle giggled and reluctantly let go of Tom, giving him one more lingering kiss before she hurried over to the crib, peering down at Will, who was trying to grasp the bars with his tiny hands, but he couldn't quite work out the concept of clutching yet. "It's all right," Danielle soothed, snatching him up and holding him close to her. His wide eyes stared over her shoulder at Tom, who barely looked at his son as he walked over to her, something silver and gold glinting in his hand.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Danielle breathed; she wasn't sure what she would have done if it had been stolen. Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, she placed Will in her lap, making sure to support his head, and took the diadem from Tom, balancing it in her shaking hand before handing it over to Will. She wasn't sure whether to place it on his head or his hands, so she settled for closing his tiny fingers over the stones, watching closely as his attention moved from her to the diadem.

Even Tom was showing slight interest as she waited for baited breath for a signal, a sign—anything to show that he had been cured. Will gave a tiny shudder and something in the back of his eyes seemed to disappear, although Danielle couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. The tiara fell from his grasp and clattered onto the floor, where Tom immediately picked it up.

"Is he cured?" she asked after a moment; there was no obvious sign that anything had changed.

"I believe so," Tom replied as he began to leave the room. "Only time will tell."

Danielle chose to interpret that as a _yes,_ but nevertheless would have been much happier if only Tom still didn't look so distant, as if he was bored with the entire situation. "Tom, you mean to say that you don't even _care_ that your son won't suffer the same fate you had?" she cried after his retreating back.

He stopped at the door, his gaze steadily meeting hers as he replied, "I am pleased, as it will mean I do not have to suffer the unpleasant aspects of living under the same roof as a child afflicted with the curse. It will take more than the mere word of _family_ to earn my fondness, Clara." And then he was gone, turning neatly on his heel.

Danielle could do nothing but glance down at Will. As if on cue, his eyes filled with tears and he began to cry loudly—the first time he had done so since his birth. "I know how you feel," she whispered, despite the fact she was aware he couldn't understand a word, kissing his head and trying to pacify him. "But don't take it personally—it took him nearly three years to admit that he loved me." She gave a choked sob as well, knowing that it had been foolish of her to believe that Tom would automatically have affection for his son, and remained kneeling on the floor for a very long time.

* * *

Tom returned to the Ministry the following day, leaving Danielle to care for Will on her own. This proved to be much more difficult than expected, as the removal of the curse meant that he was now, for all intents and purposes, a "normal" baby. His uncharacteristic quietness soon gave way to bouts of crying and fussing, and Danielle soon realized she couldn't leave him alone for more than thirty seconds. By the end of the first day, her nerves were frazzled and she already felt exhausted. She would almost rather face Olive Hornby than change one more diaper or feed Will one more time. Bode had written to her while she was still at St Mungo's to inform her that he was granting her exactly one year of leave before she had to start working again or she would have to give up her job. _Three hundred and sixty-two more days to go,_ Danielle thought dully as she flopped down onto one of the chairs in the sitting-room, holding Will tightly. He had mercifully fallen asleep, presumably after crying himself to exhaustion, and from what Felicity had advised her, any time that a baby fell asleep was not to be wasted.

Then again, it didn't seem as if Tom would ever be helping her out. He had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with raising Will, or even with Will himself, and there was no way for Danielle to convince him that his son was worth loving—or even worth caring for. How would that affect Will in the future, she thought, gently running her hand across her son's head that was already covered in dark hair, to have such a cold and distant father? She couldn't be both parents to him. It was one thing to have a physically absent father, but entirely another to have one who was emotionally absent.

Maybe she _was_ selfish. Maybe she shouldn't have gone through with the pregnancy after all. What would happen when Will was old enough to realize that his father didn't love him and, indeed, was destined to become the Darkest wizard of all time? What would happen when he learned that his mother was a time-traveller and that his birth was an oddity, a strange twist of fate that should have never happened? And how was he supposed to grow up in this old, deserted manor by himself? Danielle would have to send him to her friends when she began working again, since he would have nowhere else to go. Surely Alyssa and Alphard or Dylan and Felicity would be able to give him the support and care that he needed, but how would he react to being shipped off to another family, no matter how kind and supportive they were, because his own parents couldn't be proper parents to him?

Danielle glanced down, resting her chin on the top of Will's head. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him. He twitched slightly in his sleep but didn't open his eyes; he was still far too young to know just how unlucky he was. Even if he wasn't physically afflicted with Vetus Periculosus anymore, he would grow up to realize he was cursed in an entirely different way. Then again, she supposed that any child of Tom Riddle's would never be ordinary.

"Hello, Clara," said a slightly mournful but familiar voice. It was spoken so softly that for a moment Danielle wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, but why would she imagine this? Slowly, being careful not to jostle Will, Danielle twisted around in the chair to see a pearly-white figure floating just behind her. She was wearing a summery, light green dress and her hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Despite her pale pallor, Danielle still recognized her as if their last meeting had been yesterday.

"Georgina!" she stammered, unsure whether to cry to laugh. "What are—ghost—how—why—"

The ghost gave a short but humorless laugh as she slowly made her way over to them. As she moved closer, Danielle could see a dark red hole on the lower right half of her torso, as if made by a Muggle gun. "You are still gifted with words, I see," she said dryly. "But yes, I am a ghost. Just don't ask me _why_ I am one. I never wanted to be—I was never scared of death. I would rather have eternal oblivion than this—this _half-state_." Georgina gazed down at herself and spread out her arms self-deprecatingly. "It's not really being alive. I can't participate in anything."

"Oh, Georgie," Danielle whispered. "I am so sorry…"

"Don't apologize," said Georgina. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known that Schefflur would try torturing us for information. And don't you dare try to make excuses for Skender. I've had seven months to think about it, and I am sickened that he tried to kill you in revenge." She bit her lip. "I'm beginning to wonder if I ever really loved him at all. And now neither of us can make amends, because he's moved on and I never will."

"But…what have you been doing?" asked Danielle. She actually had to rub her eyes to make sure it was Georgina she was seeing, and not some figment of her imagination. "Why haven't I seen you until now?"

"I've been watching you," her friend said matter-of-factly. Now that she'd established Danielle wouldn't scream or run, she cautiously perched on the arm of the chair, as if they were merely having an average, pleasant conversation. "I just felt that you had enough on your mind without me. Dumbledore told me that you would blame yourself no matter what I said."

Danielle straightened up, nearly dropping Will in her eagerness to ask her next question. "You've been speaking to Dumbledore?"

Georgina nodded. "Not as often as I would like, but yes. I don't know much about what he's doing, but he believes that there is an underlying cause that I became a ghost. Some 'unfinished business' or something of the sort." She waved her hand in dismissal. "He also believes that there is one person who can help me."

"And who is that?" Danielle said slowly, although she was sure she already knew the answer.

"He did say that if anybody could figure out why I'm still here, it would be Tom," Georgina said ruefully. "But I doubt Riddle wants to help me with anything…and no offense, Clara, but if ghosts have never been properly studied, I don't think he'll be able to tell me anything I don't already know."

Danielle was quiet for a long time, trying to think of something that would make her feel better. "Well…I don't know," she finally replied. "But that doesn't mean it won't ever be figured out." _Tom has all eternity to study it,_ she thought angrily.

Georgina sighed and gave her a small, sad smile. "I appreciate your advice, but I already know that I'm stuck here forever. And before you go on asking me how I spoke to Dumbledore, let me say that I promised him I wouldn't even tell you where he is. At least Legilimency doesn't work on ghosts."

"So you're not even going to ask me who Schefflur is?" Danielle asked with no small amount of trepidation.

"Oh, I don't need to," Georgina said self-importantly, and for a moment there was a flash of the girl she used to be. "I already know." But before Danielle could ask exactly _how_ she knew, Georgina looked down at Will and smiled wistfully. "He's adorable," she said. "I couldn't believe it when Alyssa told me you were pregnant."

Danielle frowned. "Alyssa told you? So she knew that you were…well…"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Clara," she said quickly. "But I really didn't think that you needed any more stress. I made them promise not to tell."

"It's all right," Danielle mumbled. "I'm more surprised about the fact that Alyssa was able to keep a secret."

"Threats do work quite well," admitted Georgina. Danielle glanced up at her, alarmed, and both of them began to laugh at once. A bit of a spark had come back into Georgina's eyes.

"I'm just concerned about Tom," Danielle said when their laughter had died down. "He's barely _looked_ at Will, let alone held him."

"He'll come around, I'm sure," Georgina reassured her, but there was no telling how sincere she was.

* * *

"I can't believe that you knew about Georgie all along and you didn't tell me!" Danielle exclaimed to Alyssa the following day. They were sitting in Fortescue's cocoa shop, each with a steaming mug on the table in front of them. Will was fast asleep in his pram after having been awake and screaming all night. Danielle had had to sleep in the nursery lest Tom reach his breaking point and cast a Silencing Charm on the infant. Nevertheless, earlier that morning Alyssa had shown up at the manor and demanded that Danielle spend the afternoon at Diagon Alley with her.

Alyssa grinned evilly and took a sip of her cocoa to avoid answering. When she took away the cup there was a large dollop of cream on her nose. "She _did_ say she would haunt me for the rest of my life if she ever got word that I'd told you anything."

"I don't doubt that she was being serious," Danielle laughed. Before Georgina had left, she had told her that she was welcome to visit anytime she wanted to. Tom, on the other hand, wasn't as welcoming: when Danielle had explained about Georgina, he had muttered something about being stuck with the Taylor girl for an indefinite period of time, and Danielle was sure his day at the Ministry would be spent searching for ghost-repelling charms, if such a thing even existed.

Across the table from her, Alyssa leaned over the pram and began to tickle Will's arm. He woke up with a startled cry and immediately began to wail, causing the other customers in the shop to glare at Danielle. " _Lyssa,_ " she sighed as she tried in vain to calm him down. "Now he'll never go back to sleep."

"Sorry," Alyssa apologized at once, jerking her hand back. "I'm just trying to get some practice with babies."

Danielle stopped mid-sentence to glare suspiciously at her. "And why exactly do you need practice?"

A light blush covered her face and she bit her lip, seeming hesitant to reply. "I'm, well, pregnant."

"Not you _too?_ " Danielle pretended to cry dramatically, although she had known it would only be a matter of time. "First Felicity, then me, and now you."

"It was intentional," Alyssa admitted, but she still couldn't look Danielle in the eye. "Will and Pippa are going to be in the same year at Hogwarts, and I didn't want my children to be left out. I'm due in August," she added, but couldn't hide the relief in her voice.

"Let me guess," Danielle said dryly. "Twins?"

Alyssa looked shocked. "How did you know?"

"Er, lucky guess," she said, surveying her friend with amusement. Now that she thought about it, the signs were quite obvious: when Danielle had been in labour, Alphard hadn't wanted Alyssa to carry her to the fireplace because of a mysterious _condition_ , but of course Danielle hadn't been paying attention to their words at the time. And it explained her horror and unease after witnessing Will's birth. In fact, now that it had been pointed out, Alyssa _had_ gained quite a significant amount of weight.

"Alphard and I have been arguing about what to name then," she said. "I want them to have traditional pure-blood names, since I know how it feels to be laughed at because you have an _unusual_ name," here she rolled her eyes, "And he wants them to have modern names."

"Goodness, I can't wait to see who wins that argument," Danielle muttered, hiding her smile. But her retort was drowned out by Will's ever-escalating sobs; his face would surely turn blue soon after not receiving enough oxygen. Now Fortescue himself was staring over at their table. Embarrassed, Danielle quickly pulled the blanket back over her son and stood up. "Let's go for a walk," she muttered, and Alyssa dutifully stood up, but not before tickling Will's arm one more time.

* * *

Luckily, the snow had lightened up by the time they emerged outside; only a few stray flakes drifted down from the coppery sky. There weren't many people about in the cold weather aside from a stray witch or wizard doing their shopping. Alyssa cleared a path in front of them while Danielle carefully pushed the pram along behind her friend. Will's cries had died down to occasional whimpers, muffled by the layers of blankets that covered him.

"Maybe we should go to Gringotts next," Alyssa was saying as she kicked a pile of snow out of the way. "Alphard asked me to withdraw some—Oh, Merlin!" she jumped back, startled, and nearly fell into a snowbank, forcing Danielle to grab her arm at the last minute. She was staring at a hunched figure leaning against the side of one of the buildings, a thin pink fabric the only thing shielding it from the freezing air.

"Minnie!" Danielle cried; she had recognized the Hogwarts house-elf at once. Leaving Alyssa with the pram, she waded over to where Minnie was crouched against the wind, her short, bony arms wrapped around herself. The elf's wide eyes, once full of life, were now dull and lackluster. She seemed barely to see Danielle as she knelt in front of her. "What are you doing here?" Danielle asked, gently reaching out a hand to the elf.

Minnie blinked several times before her eyes lit up in recognition. "Clara Ashford!" she croaked. "What is she doing here? Surely she couldn't have come to visit Minnie!"

"I was just out shopping," Danielle explained, gesturing back to Alyssa, who was bending over the pram and appeared to be lecturing Will, shaking her finger at him as if he could in any way even remotely understand what she was saying. Stifling a smirk, she turned back to Minnie. "Why aren't you at Hogwarts?"

The house-elf's eyes suddenly filled with tears and she began to cry, dabbing at her face with her rag of a pillowcase. "Minnie is no longer welcome there! The Headmaster banned her from the school after he blamed her for stealing Polyjuice Potion! No matter how much Minnie tried to convince him that it wasn't her fault, he wouldn't believe her. It was because he saw her speaking to Tippy, but he blamed her instead of him." She loudly blew her nose, causing Danielle to feel a wave of sympathy for her.

"Minnie," she asked delicately. "This wouldn't have happened a year and a half ago, would it? In September 1945?"

"It did, miss!" the elf replied, nodding vigorously. "Minnie has been on the streets since then. She cannot find another family, and although it is not so terrible in the summers, she does not like the winter very much."

Danielle was quiet for a moment, thinking of Tom's reaction to what she was about to do next, before finally shrugging it off. _It would serve him right,_ she decided. _After all, it's his fault that she's like this in the first place._ "You know what, Minnie?" she asked, standing up and taking the elf's hand. "I think I know of an old manor that could use your help."

* * *

To her great surprise, Tom wasn't perturbed in the least by their sudden acquirement of a house-elf: in fact, he almost seemed to _enjoy_ bossing Minnie around, telling her to fetch him certain items or to clean a room he didn't see as being spotless. Minnie, of course, nearly fell over her feet trying to please him, and more than once Danielle found herself frowning at him whenever he ordered one of his ridiculous demands. But Minnie didn't complain: she was more than happy to do whatever it took to have a roof over her head and as much food as she wanted. "You is so kind, miss!" she constantly said to Danielle. "Minnie is so lucky!" who couldn't stop herself from thinking that anyone who lived in the same residence as Tom Riddle was certainly not lucky.

Three more days slowly passed by, each night more sleep-deprived than the last, and Danielle was beginning to reach her breaking point. Tom had never mentioned Will _once_ , and he was spending even longer at the Ministry than he normally did, which was really saying something. Part of her had the masochistic urge to see how long he could go on without acknowledging the fact that he had a newborn son, but the other half wanted to just scream at his neglect. _You're worse than your father,_ Danielle wanted to shout. _At least he had the guts to leave. I'd rather have an absent father than one who was around but acted like I was invisible._

And her anger finally reached its bursting point one evening a week after Will had been brought home. Minnie had just served them supper, and Tom was pacing the library, searching for a book, while Danielle was across the hallway checking on Will. He was awake but quiet, clutching a stuffed dragon that had been a gift from Dylan and Felicity, and staring at his mother with intent blue eyes. In a sudden burst of recklessness, Danielle swooped over to his crib and scooped him up, carrying him across the corridor and standing in the doorway. Tom didn't look over at them right away; he was focusing on the books, although Danielle knew he had heard her approach.

"I can't believe it," she said after a long silence. "First you ignore your son— _your son_ —and now me! You said that it would take more than family to earn your fondness, but how are you supposed to grow fond of him if you act like he doesn't exist?"

"It was not my wish to have a child—"

"Was it your wish to fall in love with me?" Danielle challenged. She took a step toward Tom, balancing Will on one arm. "But you did anyway. Tom, _please_. Just hold him once."

As if on cue, Will dropped his toy dragon where it landed on the floor next to Danielle's feet and began to wave his arms wildly in Tom's direction. Danielle instinctively knew he was just fussing and that he wanted to be put down, but she wouldn't expect Tom to realize that. To him, it would just look like Will was reaching for him.

Tom gave one of his customary exasperated sighs, sensing that Danielle wouldn't let the matter go, and with no small amount of disdain took Will from her, holding the baby awkwardly as far away from him as possible. Danielle prayed that Will wouldn't spit up or begin to cry, which would only alienate Tom even further from him.

But to her relief, Will did nothing of the sort: in fact, he sat almost quietly in Tom's arms, staring up at his father with those blue eyes. The resemblance between them was even more striking now, and Danielle felt an involuntary smile cross her face.

Fawkes suddenly flew into the room, soaring gracefully over the three of them, and landed on one of the tables. Will gave a shriek of delight and began to thrash around, trying to get a better view of Fawkes, and the moment was broken. Tom nearly shoved him back into Danielle's arms before seemingly grabbing a book at random and striding out of the room without a glance back. She sank down into one of the chairs and placed Will on the table next to Fawkes, where the phoenix was looking at him haughtily. "Well," Danielle said under her breath, "I'm hoping at least that was a step in the right direction."


	33. The Past and the Future

Ever since she had been sent back to 1942, Danielle's life had grown into a fairly predictable pattern: she would experience a relatively quiet time of peace for several months before abruptly being thrown into the path of danger again. It had happened just after her arrival in the past up until her first Christmas at Vauxhall Orphanage; during the summer of 1943 until sixth year; and then again during the summer of 1945, right up until she had begun her job at the Ministry. It was as if fate was giving her time to breathe before she was thrust back into the inherent problems that being a time-traveller and Tom Riddle's wife entailed.

The first six months after Will's birth appeared to fall into that category. Things had seemingly settled into place for the moment—they key word being _moment._ Danielle was all too aware that everything could be flipped upside down at any moment with little to no warning. In fact, by now she almost expected it. However, she tried not to let her apprehension hinder her, and tried to live as normal a life as possible, without giving a thought to the fact that she was only making her problems worse by refusing to face them.

Slytherin and Schefflur had moved locations several times over the past months—from Belgrade to Ankara to Budapest—but had never, as far as Danielle knew, returned to Britain. She was both wary and relieved by this: wary because it meant that they could be doing any number of things while there, such as creating a new plan or changing the timeline, and relieved because at least they weren't a looming threat at the moment. Besides, she figured, Dumbledore would write to them if they were truly in trouble, wouldn't he?

Meanwhile, Tom continued to be promoted in the Ministry at an astonishing rate, earning whispers and rumours from the other employees. He had gone from being a lowly intern in the Death Chamber to the Head of the Department in just over a year. Both he and Danielle were sure that McLaird was being controlled under the Imperius Curse, and Tom was convinced that it was Slytherin's doing. He was being prepared for something that Slytherin or Schefflur wanted, but as of yet he still had no idea what it was. Danielle joked that one day he would receive a letter to find himself the new Minister for Magic—and at the rate his promotions were appearing, she wasn't that far off. Nevertheless, this meant that Tom could reap the rewards that his former positions hadn't been able to: he could access archives and departments of the Ministry that had previously been forbidden, although he was sworn to secrecy. Danielle often questioned him on what he was discovering from the hitherto unknown files, but he refused to tell her. "You will find out eventually, Clara," he often said, with that smirk that made her bitterly complain that she would _never_ find out, despite the fact she knew very well that it was none of her business.

Will was now growing so quickly that Danielle could barely keep up with him. She swore that he had doubled in height, and to top it off he had just learned to crawl, meaning that she had to keep a constant eye on him or he would wreck the entire manor. His curly hair was now even more prominent, and everyone who saw him commented on the resemblance between him and Danielle. But he had a healthy amount of Tom in him as well—the most obvious shared feature being their dark blue eyes and high cheekbones. Felicity often brought Pippa over to play, or vice versa, and the two women chatted while the babies stared at each other, unsure how they should react to the other. Danielle found she was warming up to Felicity even more than she had previously thought: it was nice to have a fresh point of view, someone from outside the wizarding world, and Felicity was polite and mild-mannered, very unlike a certain pair of female friends that Danielle knew. That wasn't to say she didn't love Alyssa and Georgina any less—it was just that she enjoyed being able to spend time with Felicity without being pressured into conversation.

Tom still wouldn't show any affection or even fondness toward Will, but at least he would acknowledge his presence, and call him by his name instead of "the baby". Danielle hadn't been able to get him to hold or even touch him again, but at least now he was tolerating Will being in the same room as him and would no longer become angry when he began to cry. However, Danielle knew that they still had a very long way to go before he stopped treating Will as if he was nothing more than an irritating pet that he was forced to put up with.

Will's babysitters had turned out to be the not-so-surprising combination of Alyssa and Alphard or Dylan and Felicity, and the slightly more unusual Minnie. Danielle found that the house-elf was quite adept at watching over Will when she had to leave the manor, and she'd even gone back to work part-time because she trusted the elf so implicitly. Minnie was delighted at being given such an important task, and judging by Will's laughter and general happy mood whenever she found them together, he was just as agreeable as she was. That combined with Bode's glee that Danielle could work several hours a week only added to her happiness, and the summer brought with it a sense of contentment, as if maybe she would be able to settle down after all.

But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end, and there was no one who knew that better than Danielle. It was a beautiful mid-August day and she'd just arrived back from work, hoping that Tom would come home soon so that they could spend some already-rare time together. The saying that the spark died down after the honeymoon period ended was certainly true, Danielle thought with a great amount of sadness, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to bring it back. Grinning evilly to herself, she rushed upstairs to their bedroom where she quickly changed into a bright red, eye-popping velvet dress that Alyssa had bought her for her twentieth birthday, and one she knew that Tom liked. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes—or his hands—off her that entire night, but Danielle hadn't worn it since. After changing into it and brushing her hair so it looked suitable, she hurried into Will's room, hoping to lull him to sleep for the rest of the evening.

Instead of finding Minnie watching over him, she saw that he was sitting up alone in his crib, peering out through the bars and looking thoroughly confused—or as confused as a baby could look. Danielle glanced around the room, but there was no sign of the house-elf. That was odd—she had given orders to never leave Will unattended. "Minnie?" she asked, snatching him up and making sure he was all right. "Where are you?"

When there was still no sign of the elf, Danielle headed downstairs to the kitchen where Minnie preferred to sleep, thinking that she might have just lost track of time—although she couldn't ignore the voice in the back of her mind saying that she had never lost track of time before. Will was beginning to fuss, wanting to be put down, and Danielle quickly placed him on the floor and closed the door so he couldn't crawl away before entering the kitchen, still calling for Minnie. The elf's tiny bed was empty, but she could see a small pink shape lying on the floor.

Heart in her throat, Danielle crouched down to where Minnie was lying in a puddle of blood. Her eyes were closed, and with a surge of dizzying relief she saw that the elf was still breathing, albeit shallowly, though the pool of blood was becoming larger by the second. Her right hand was speared in place by a long knife, as if her attacker had tried for her heart but missed. Who would attack her with a Muggle weapon? Danielle blinked back tears as she gritted her teeth and yanked the blade out of Minnie's hand and threw it aside, where it spun around wildly on the floor before smashing into the opposite wall.

The elf gave a cry of pain and her large green eyes fluttered open, locking onto Danielle's with terror. "Miss!" she said weakly. "Minnie is terribly sorry…she tried to defend herself but he was too strong…"

Danielle lifted her up, cradling her head in her arms. "Who attacked you?" she asked urgently, mind racing. The assailant could still be around even now, but it was strange that Will was fine…

"Minnie can't…can't remember," the elf said slowly, and her eyes began to flutter closed again. "She was trying to save Master William…"

"Will is fine," Danielle replied, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood. She needed to get her to St Mungo's straight away, but would they even care for a house-elf? Kicking open the kitchen door, she knelt down to pick up Will with her other arm, balancing both of them awkwardly, and started to jog toward the fireplace, mentally figuring out emergency procedures and where to bring Will, now that she knew the manor wasn't safe. Dylan, Felicity, and Pippa were visiting Felicity's family in France, and she didn't want to ask the heavily pregnant Alyssa to take care of another baby, but she had no choice.

Danielle didn't slow down as she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and shouted out "St Mungo's!" Just before the fire swallowed her up, she could have sworn she saw a dark shape rush into the sitting-room, but it had disappeared before she had a chance to see it clearly.

* * *

When she emerged in the waiting-room at St Mungo's, she sprinted over to the welcome witch's desk, shoving Minnie onto the table. "I need a Healer for my house-elf," she panted. "She's been attacked and I don't know how serious her injuries are."

The welcome-witch's usual bored expression turned into one of astonishment. "Ma'am, we don't care for house-elves here—" she began, but when she caught sight of Minnie's wounds her eyebrows shot right up into her hairline and she immediately grabbed the elf, rushing her into one of the back rooms.

Danielle waited there for what felt like ages, hopping back and forth between both feet and longing to put Will down, as her arms were beginning to feel sore, but there was a little girl waiting next to them who appeared to have grown a dragon's tail, and she couldn't guarantee that Will wouldn't try to pull at it. When the welcome witch reappeared, her vacant expression had also returned. "She is being treated right away and her injuries are not life-threatening."

But Danielle didn't have time to wait out her explanation; she yelled a quick "Thank you!" in the witch's direction before dashing back over to the fireplace, leaping into the flames and Floo'ing straight to the Blacks' manor.

* * *

Will had started to cry by the time she jumped out into their drawing-room, and Danielle tried unsuccessfully to soothe him as she ran out into the corridor, calling out for Alphard and Alyssa. She glanced quickly into each of the numerous rooms as she passed, praying that they were home.

She finally found them sitting outside in the back garden, lying on deck chairs and enjoying the beautiful weather. A slight breeze ruffled the trees and hedges, the sky perfectly cloudless, but Danielle barely saw any of it as she sprinted over to them, nearly dropping Will in Alphard's lap.

"Clara!" Alyssa shouted, unperturbed by Danielle's sudden appearance. In her tight shirt, her stomach was even more prominent than usual. "We just found out that the twins are both boys. I've decided I want to name them Cepheus and Eridanus—"

"You mean Colin and Eric," Alphard corrected, but Danielle interrupted before Alyssa could retort. "D'you mind watching Will? Our manor has been broken into and Minnie was attacked. I need to find Tom right away."

"Of course, Clara," Alphard said worriedly. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"And who broke into your manor?" Alyssa added.

"I…I don't know the answer to either of those questions," Danielle admitted, biting her lip. "I don't know where we're going next or how long we'll be gone."

Her friends exchanged a long, loaded glance, the type she found herself sharing with Tom from time to time. "All right," Alphard finally said. "Just…be careful, Clara."

"You do this a lot," remarked Alyssa. "You're always off on some dangerous mission and you never explain why."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Danielle managed to say, with what she hoped was a wry smile, and leaned over to kiss Will on the top of his head. After thanking Alyssa and Alphard once again, she turned around and headed inside, knowing they were talking about her. But at least Minnie and Will were safe for the moment—Danielle hoped that Tom hadn't arrived home early, although she was more than convinced he could defend himself if the attacker was still there.

* * *

Since he was being promoted at an astounding rate, his office had changed from a small cubicle in the Death Chamber to a far more spacious, distinguished room on the fifth floor. When she burst into the office, eyes wide, Tom turned around, a flash of surprise crossing his face at her strange appearance. "Clara," he murmured as the door swung shut behind her, "Would you mind explaining exactly _why_ you are in my office covered in blood and wearing that dress?" By now she knew him well enough to notice his eyes rake over her body, and the small, appreciative quirking upward of his lips.

"Someone got into the manor," she said urgently, and the smirk instantly disappeared. "I came home to find that Minnie had been stabbed. I brought her to St Mungo's and left Will with Alyssa and Alphard."

Tom raised his wand and Danielle braced herself out of habit, but she wasn't to worry: he pointed it at the fireplace in the corner of the room and called out, "Bode!" It instantly flared green and Danielle recognized her supervisor at once; he looked just as shocked to see her there.

"Good afternoon, Clara," he said. "I thought you already left for the day—"

"I am taking the rest of the evening off," Tom interrupted him, his voice hard. "You are to get one of the interns to finish this work and I shall be editing it when I return. Do you understand?"

Before Danielle's incredulous eyes, Bode suddenly turned meek and compromising. "Of course, sir," he said, and with another impatient flick of Tom's wand the fireplace turned empty again. Power suited him well; even Danielle couldn't deny that.

"Now," Tom began, striding over toward Danielle. "Did you notice anything unusual at the manor? Was anything missing?"

She shook her head, struggling to remember. "I did…I did see a dark shape just as I was Floo'ing away, but I can't be sure what it was."

"Stay here," he instructed, and began to move toward the fireplace.

"I'm coming with you," Danielle said resolutely, hurrying after him. He sighed, as he usually did when he was exasperated but wasn't going to forbid it.

"I do not want to waste time and energy looking after you," he replied, sharp as usual. "You cannot properly defend yourself." And with that, he was gone, swallowed up by the flames.

Danielle was so enraged that she nearly, childishly, stamped her foot. Alistair was still back home, and if she stayed here any longer she would surely be put to work again—

"Mrs Riddle?" a friendly, familiar voice asked from the doorway. Immediately snapping to attention, Danielle whirled around and tried not to betray her fear at the sight of Lorcan McLaird, who was smiling at her.

"Er, hello, Minister," she managed to stutter out, staring down at the floor and not making eye contact. How could he have known she was at the Ministry? Had Bode told him? She had barely seen the Minister since he had come to their flat a year and a half beforehand—which was, in her opinion, a good thing. She had no idea how to tell if someone was under the Imperius Curse or not.

"I thought I would find you in here," McLaird continued. His easy smile didn't falter as he stepped aside to let another wizard through, this one just as familiar. "Mr Scamander tells me that you two have met before."

"Yeah, I guess we have," she frowned, remembering when Bode had been showing the "potential new employee" around. She couldn't think of a polite way to tell them that she wasn't in the mood for mindless chatter right then.

But then McLaird did something very odd—he said, "Well, I'll leave you two to it, then," and quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Danielle's mouth had gone dry as Scamander began to walk across the room toward her. She reached for her wand, prepared to fire a curse at him, but before she could even react he had grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him before they both Disapparated out of the office.

When Danielle regained her balance again, she realized that they were standing in the sitting-room of the manor—how in the name of Merlin had Scamander managed to Disapparate out of the Ministry and into the manor? "Sir…" she began as she slowly backed away. "What are you doing?"

"What do you _think_ , little girl?" Scamander snapped, and his tone had turned to a near growl. His features rapidly began to unfurl, bubbling and twisting, and Danielle watched in horrified fascination as the form of another wizard took Scamander's place. He had bright, narrowed green eyes, and hair as black as Tom's, with the same hard, angular features. Danielle had never seen him before, but some part of her knew instinctively who he was. "Schefflur," she breathed. He had taken Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself.

A bright flash of red light shot past her and hit Schefflur squarely in the chest. He staggered backward, falling into the foyer and smashing his head against the banister. "Get the Time-Turner," Tom ordered Danielle as he stood over Schefflur, his face twisted in rage.

She didn't need to be told twice; taking the stairs three a time, she leapt up the staircase and into their bedroom, throwing open the cabinet and rooting through it for the Time-Turner, which was by now covered with dust after having been untouched for so long.

When Danielle pulled it out triumphantly, she threw the chain around her neck, noting with dismay how _natural_ it felt, as if she was _meant_ to be wearing it—but she couldn't lament over the fact that even after all this time had passed, she still didn't belong there. As she passed Dumbledore's map, her eyes caught the two dots labeled _Slytherin_ and _Schefflur_ : they were no longer in Moscow, as they had previously been, but in the east of England. _Both of them_.

Swallowing hard, Danielle shuddered and sprinted out of the room again, stopping at the top of the staircase and listening to Tom interrogate Schefflur. "How did you get in here?" he was asking. "Answer me!"

"You believe your magic is powerful, but it is _nothing_ ," Schefflur replied. "We have always known where you were. It was quite amusing to watch you try to defend yourselves against a force you have no control over."

And it was then Danielle understood. That was why Schefflur had told Holstone everything—because he had known Tom would eventually find him. They had fallen right into his trap. "And you were the Healer at the Druri Inn and the boy in Tirana!" Danielle exclaimed. "You've known where we were all along!"

"And you were foolish enough to believe I didn't know," Schefflur said, his teeth bared in a wicked sneer. "Salazar is the reason you have a son. He wishes to carry on his line but eliminate this filth from it." He nodded at Tom, whose eyes were blazing but his face blank.

"If you knew where we were, why did you torture Georgina?" Danielle demanded.

Schefflur shrugged. "I had always disliked her as a student—she was far too brash and noisy for a Head Girl, and her grades were hardly worth talking about."

Danielle couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So you tortured and killed a girl because you _didn't like her?_ " she spat.

This only caused Schefflur's smirk to grow wider. "Clara, Clara, _Clara_. Such a hypocrite you are. Perhaps if I was twenty years younger and looked more like your _darling_ husband, you would be able to look the other way, as you always do when it comes to him. Catch us if you can, Riddle." So quickly that Danielle barely had time to see it, Schefflur had snatched a small wristwatch from his pocket. As he fastened it around his arm, Tom hissed something in Parseltongue under his breath and a snake burst forth from the tip of his wand, throwing itself at Schefflur with its fangs bared and forked tongue exposed. But he was too late—Schefflur rolled to the side, narrowly missing the serpent's attack, and with a bright burst of white light, he had disappeared.

Danielle let out a yell of surprise, leaping forward into the spot where he had vanished, but there was only empty air. "Shit," she swore, whirling back around to face Tom. "Where did he go?"

But Tom didn't reply; he was staring directly at her, his eyes slightly wider than normal. There was a mingled expression of unease and confusion on his face. Puzzled, Danielle looked down at herself—and shrieked, holding up her hand. She was beginning to _fade_ , her skin becoming translucent. And everything was suddenly clear: Slytherin and Schefflur were altering the timeline. Using the _device_ —which had turned out to be an ordinary wristwatch—that Holstone had explained about, he had travelled to a parallel universe and likely killed the Danielle Bailey that existed in that one, therefore causing _her_ to begin to disappear.

Tom grabbed her arm, shaking her out of her predicament, and literally thrust her into the sitting-room, where he reached into his robes and pulled out a wristwatch of his own. "I have been working on it as well," he explained, slipping it onto his wrist and grabbing her hand; she unconsciously reached up to her throat to make sure the locket and the Time-Turner hadn't begun to fade like she was. Before Danielle could even stutter out another question, he had muttered a spell under his breath and the watch began to glow. The Time-Turner around her neck jerked forward, and she fell against Tom, noticing with horror that her other hand was beginning to fade.

He turned abruptly on the spot and she squeezed her eyes shut as they Apparated, although to where she had no idea. When she opened her eyes, still clinging onto Tom, she noted that they were standing in a grassy, open field, with the buildings of London visible on the horizon. The weather wasn't as splendid here as it was in Norfolk; the sky was covered with a mass of gray clouds and a few drops of rain were falling around them, just enough to wet the grass.

"Tom," Danielle began shakily. "Where are we going?"

He merely nodded at her Time-Turner. "Use it," he commanded, and with shaking hands, she obeyed, not bothering to look at the date as she spun the knob.

This time, though, instead of being pulled forward or backward, she was pulled _sideways_ , an odd mix of colours and shapes blurring around her. Danielle stifled a gasp and her grip tightened on Tom's arm, but as she was about to call for him the sensation stopped, and she found herself still standing in the lush field, but even without the aid of sight she could sense that something had changed: everything was noisier, less peaceful. She could hear distant cries and shouts, and there was a smoggy haze over London, whose buildings appeared to have tripled in size. The skyscrapers that now dominated the horizon were like none that had ever existed in the nineteen-forties.

She took a step backwards, turning her hand over and nearly sinking to the ground at the relief that she was no longer fading: form was beginning to come back into her skin, but she was at a complete and utter loss as to why.

Tom wasn't looking at her; his head was turned toward the chain-link fence several metres away from them, through which Danielle could hear the low, rumbling roar of airplanes as they taxied on the runways. She supposed that they weren't so far from her family's field either; they had lived fairly close to the airport. As they watched, an enormous passenger plane slowly lifted off, climbing steadily higher until it disappeared into the clouds, the only sound its deafening roar. Danielle supposed that Tom had never seen planes like these before. That was one of the things she _hadn't_ missed about living in her time: the near-constant rumble of passenger airplanes. At least she was able to tune out the whine of the smaller planes in the forties.

"I guess we're in the future, then?" she asked feebly, trying to sound offhand. She looked down at her Time-Turner, trying to make out the date that it had been turned to:

_31/08/2011_

Tom's face was grim as he answered, "It is not just the future. We are in your original timeline."


	34. Deja Vu

"We're in my original timeline?" Danielle gasped, uncomprehending. "But that's impossible! The future has already been changed—"

Tom looked, as usual, exasperated by her ignorance. "Clara, were you not listening to Holstone? Schefflur and Slytherin discovered a way to travel between different timelines. You had already started to fade, meaning that they had killed you in another timeline."

Danielle was stunned. She had known, theoretically, that this was possible, but it only seemed as if she was _realizing_ it now. "So there are…there are hundreds, thousands, of different versions of me running out around in the universe somewhere?"

He nodded. "It would appear that is the case. Slytherin and Schefflur have, as Dumbledore would say, _upset the balance of the universe_." Danielle couldn't tell whether his tone was disdainful or not. "The point is that they could permanently alter every timeline that exists."

She frowned at him, nearly having to yell over the roar of another airplane. "You don't care about damaging the timelines! You only care that it poses a risk to yourself, don't you? You 're not doing this to fight them; you're doing it to save yourself."

Tom's gaze finally met and locked onto hers, and Danielle's heart sank as her suspicions were confirmed. "So you…you somehow managed to create this device that would transport someone to different timelines, is that it?" she continued, grabbing his hand and pulling him across the grass. He followed her without a word—unusual for him. "That's the project you've been working on for months. You were trying to replicate the same device that Schefflur and Slytherin have."

"Excellent reasoning, Clara," Tom said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I am surprised it has taken you this long to figure it out."

Danielle ignored him. "But what I don't understand is how you knew to come to this timeline."

"Where else would Slytherin and Schefflur have gone?" Tom asked smoothly. "They want to be pursued. They know that you would choose to come here above all other scenarios."

"All right," she said slowly, "I'll give you that. But how in the name of Merlin are we supposed to figure out which place they're in and in what year? They could be _anywhere_."

But Tom's expression didn't falter. "Their aim is to kill you—meaning that they would have traveled to a year between your birth and when you permanently left for 1943. You stopped fading as soon as we entered this time, so they evidently have not attempted to murder you yet. And you did not leave until the middle of September, so that leaves two weeks in which they will act."

Danielle was, as always, impressed by his quick mind, but declined to outwardly show her awe. "Great job, Sherlock," she mumbled. "So what do you deduce we do now? I'll be leaving for Hogwarts in an hour, and I don't suppose that you would consider following around my other self for the next fourteen days." _Especially not when you can see just how heartbroken I was after coming back to 2011,_ she silently added.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Tom conjured a piece of parchment and held it out to her; Danielle knew without even looking at it that it was Dumbledore's map. She hesitantly reached for it, watching the glimmering lines of the map sharpen and focus as she smoothed it out. Sure enough, the two dots representing Slytherin and Schefflur were present, both currently in Ireland. "So we wait for them to close in?" she asked slowly, staring in the distance at London's skyline. She could feel Tom's watchful eyes on her.

"Yes," he said after a long pause. "And then I will intercept and kill both of them."

"But what if Slytherin has made more Horcruxes?" Danielle asked, not tearing her gaze from the buildings in the distance. This was the world in which she had come from—a world which seemed, unbelievably, more foreign to her than the one she had just arrived from. Here, Tom and Voldemort were both long dead, as were Alyssa, Dylan, Alphard, and Dumbledore. Georgina didn't exist yet, and Will never had. Danielle felt a pang of longing for the newborn son she had left behind, wishing she could cuddle up with him and make sure that he was safe and happy, but that was impossible now. She would have to cross her fingers and pray that she would be able to get back to him. And then find some way to make it up to Alyssa and Alphard for taking care of him; after all, once the twins were born, they would have to take care of three boys at once.

"Clara," Tom said sharply, causing her to snap back to reality. "You are not listening to me."

"No," Danielle admitted, wringing her hands together in anxiety. "I was thinking about Will."

Tom raised an eyebrow in condescension. "I assure you that the baby does not know or care where you are—"

"But that's not the point! Tom, he's my—our—son! It's natural for me to worry about him."

"Perhaps, but he does not exist right now, so your concern is senseless," Tom said uncaringly. Ignoring the flash of hurt that crossed Danielle's face, he continued, "Now, I was explaining that it does not matter if Slytherin makes Horcruxes here. He cannot hide them in this timeline, as it is too uncertain for him to risk their accidental destruction. If he brings them back, Dumbledore will find and destroy them."

"Dumbledore?" Danielle asked in spite of herself. "You're suddenly relying on Dumbledore to do something useful?"

Tom smirked. "Dumbledore may be an annoyingly meddling, credulous wizard, but he is neither unintelligent nor unprepared. He is an…asset to have on one's side. It is quite beneficial that you are so close to him."

Danielle gritted her teeth; here he was again, acting like nothing mattered. Every time she thought she would catch a chink in Tom's armour, something that would make her feel like maybe there was humanity to him after all, he would go and prove her wrong. "I see," she said dully. "And what if he doesn't?"

"Then I will find and destroy them," Tom replied with more than a hint of arrogance.

"Of course you will," Danielle sighed. "You have all the time in the world. Eternity, in fact." Tom glanced sideways at her, but before he could speak she turned her gaze to the city looming up in front of them. "I guess we should find a place to stay in the meantime."

For a split second, Tom looked as if he was going to press the point, but finally nodded. Danielle grabbed his arm and they Disapparated away from the airport and into the bustling, mostly unfamiliar metropolis.

* * *

Although the street had changed in many ways from what she was used to in the nineteen-forties, Danielle could recognize the Leaky Cauldron anywhere. Muggles swarmed in front of the building without realizing it, tourists brandishing their mobile phones and cameras, taking pictures and shouting eagerly to their companions. On the street beside them, sleek, shiny cars zoomed by, paying no attention to the speed limits and nearly running over those who dared to step off the pavement. Danielle chanced a look over at Tom, and couldn't help but smile when she saw him taking in the sights surrounding him. This London was just as foreign to him as the forties had been to her, she thought. Now _he_ was the one who understood what it felt like to be a kelpie out of water.

The noise on the road outside must be nearly deafening to him compared with the usual silence he experienced, and Danielle could sense Tom's relief when they finally stepped into the quiet Leaky Cauldron. There were only a few witches and wizards about; it looked unchanged from how she remembered it.

Danielle was the one who went up to the front desk and asked for a room; she derived no small amount of satisfaction in finally being in her element, in understanding the time she was in and the language she was speaking. Tom—the ancient, hunchbacked barman who appeared to be clinging on to the last remains of his life—handed her a key after she'd managed to persuade him to lower the price of their room since neither of them had much money. When the other Tom and Danielle finally stepped into their room, she flopped down onto the bed, listening to the ever-present roar of traffic outside and likening to the near-silence when she'd last stayed at the pub, in the dystopian future of 2050.

"The noise is unbearable," Tom remarked, walking over to the window and staring out at the street, merely a silhouette in the cool darkness of the room. "The Muggles have only become more irritating."

Danielle couldn't stop herself from grinning. "And yet wizards still have not visited the moon."

Tom turned back around, his expression cloaked in shadows. "Have you any idea where the Philosopher's Stone is in this time?"

She sat up, her smile quickly disappearing. "No. Why do you ask?"

Tom took another step forward, his blue eyes boring into hers. "No reason," he said after another moment, breaking their gazes and looking away.

Danielle's mouth had gone dry. She was sure she knew exactly _why_ he was asking her where the Stone was, and she didn't wish to have the immortality conversation right now. She didn't want to have to argue with him for the umpteenth time that she didn't want to have to rely on a potion or some other dangerous method for prolonged life. She remembered her meeting in the field with William, and knew that when the time came, she would rather happily "move on" and reunite with her family again instead of prowling the earth forever, even if she would be with Tom. Besides, Holstone had made it quite clear that Horcruxes slowly ate away at one's humanity until there was next to nothing left. Danielle couldn't guarantee that Tom would be able to tolerate her for fifty years, let alone eternity, and he would likely revert back to his former self after enough time had elapsed. And she did not want to be around to witness that. If anything, she would be doing all she could to stop him, wherever she ended up after she died. She was already beginning to see the effects of the Horcrux now.

The two of them shared an uncomfortably long silence, and Danielle only broke it when she was sure Tom wouldn't try to monopolize the conversation again. "Listen, I fancy going for a walk. I don't want to sit here and wait for them to try to make a move."

"Not in that dress," Tom said without looking at her. He was sitting at the desk on the other side of the room, perusing the books on the shelf, and she was suddenly reminded again of their stay at the pub in 2050.

Danielle sighed exaggeratedly; she'd forgotten that she was still wearing the crimson dress. "Fine. I'll go to Madam Malkin's and buy some robes there. Just—forget about Slytherin and Schefflur for a while. I promise I won't talk about Will." When Tom didn't respond, she stood up and walked over to him, leaning against the back of the chair. "Come and see London with me," she urged, taking him by the hand and pulling him away. "You can bring the map with you. I just want to act like a normal person for once."

"You are hardly one to speak of normality, Clara," Tom shot back, but she could have sworn there was a tiny smirk on his face. He stood up and Danielle eagerly took advantage of this to persuade him, pulling his face down to hers so she could kiss him deeply, knowing how much he liked her dress. And Tom took the bait—though she was certain he was aware of what she was trying to do—and pushed her against the wall, his hands already reaching for the straps of her dress.

But Danielle broke the kiss and ducked out from under his arm, taking a moment to relish his flushed face. "I thought we were going for a walk," she teased him, and ran out of the room before he could gather his composure.

* * *

It was, she later thought, one of the most regular days she had ever spent with Tom. He coolly went along with her, but Danielle could tell his mind was on Slytherin, Schefflur and the problem they both currently presented. She, on the other hand, found it surprisingly easy to pretend that she was back home again, showing Tom the world _she_ had grown up in.

True to her word, she went to Madam Malkin's first and bought a pair of new robes, keeping her head down so the friendly witch wouldn't recognize her. She had to admit that they were much more comfortable than the dress she had been wearing.

Since Diagon Alley hadn't changed very much in the seventy years between the last time Tom had seen it and their present time, Danielle led him out into Muggle London, where she eagerly pointed out all the differences and similarities of the city, pleased to find that she remembered more than she thought she had. Tom, of course, treated the entire encounter with an air of cool indifference, but his tiny smirk whenever Danielle became excited, running over to point something out or to explain a facet of new Muggle technology to him meant that he was, indeed, listening to her.

When the sun began to set and she sensed Tom's patience was wearing thin, Danielle grudgingly headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, where she ordered dinner for them before he could escape upstairs to their room. They sat down at a secluded table near the window, where Danielle immediately tucked into her fish and chips while Tom read a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , nevertheless noting all the differences—and the similarities—between the paper he knew and the current one.

"You know," Danielle said after a short silence, "I never imagined that I could be this happy while I was on the run from Schefflur and Slytherin." She recalled her giddiness earlier that day, when she had been running across bridges and kissing Tom under the seclusion of trees in the park. "I think it's because I belong here, in this time." She hesitated before her next sentence. "In a way, it's like I never left."

This caught Tom's attention. "Do you wish to stay here permanently?" he asked, and she couldn't tell what his tone signaled.

"No," Danielle admitted, sitting back in her chair. "I've left a lot behind here, but I have far too much in 1947 to consider giving it all up." She thought of Will, Alyssa, Dylan, Alphard, Georgina, Dumbledore, Billy, Felicity…they had all, in their own separate ways, become a new family to her when she was so far removed from her own.

Tom gave her a long, calculating look before dropping his gaze again to the article he was reading, above which there boasted a large, colour picture of a preening Rita Skeeter. Danielle grimaced at it, searching for a way to change the subject. "You were certainly complacent today," she murmured, spearing at a piece of fish with her fork. "I never expected you to actually go along with me."

"It had its uses," Tom answered without looking up. "Slytherin and Schefflur now know we are in London."

"Huh? How?"

"The cameras," he explained, as if it were obvious. "They will be using every form of surveillance, both Muggle and magical, to discover if we have followed them or not. Since, as you say, the cameras are now placed all over the city, it is only a matter of time before either of them discovers us. If anything, it will only spur them to act faster."

Danielle's mouth dropped open in wonder. "That's _brilliant_ ," she said. "I would have never thought of that."

"No, you would undoubtedly have come up with some convoluted, illogical plan that would have landed you in even more danger," Tom said smoothly, though she detected a note of amusement in his voice.

So did this mean that Slytherin and Schefflur could attack them at any moment? Danielle nervously scanned the pub, as if expecting them to suddenly appear in front of her. Fortunately, neither wizard was in sight, but she did notice a pretty blonde sitting at the bar who couldn't take her eyes off Tom.

"That witch is staring at you," she said in a low voice, hiding her smile with a sip of pumpkin juice. She was used to these types of occurrences by both witches and Muggles alike: most women would casually sidle up to Tom or engage him in conversation, acting as flirtatious as possible. When he didn't respond, they would revert to shooting angry glances at Danielle, as if trying to ascertain whether she was a girlfriend or a family member. Apparently deciding she wasn't good-looking enough to be either, they would sniff haughtily and stalk away, unaware of the fact that Tom hadn't even noticed their presence. Of course, Danielle knew that he had, indeed, carefully filed away their faces and names if he ever needed to charm someone in the future. He had gone from being polite to everyone to only using his charms on people he needed to win over. Danielle supposed it got tiring after a while.

Tom didn't even spare a glance for his new admirer; he raised his eyes to Danielle instead. "And?"

"I think she's coming to talk to you," Danielle whispered, watching as the woman strode towards them with a haughtily confident air. Something about the set of her features was familiar to her, although she couldn't say how.

But now the woman was barely paying any attention to Tom. "Danielle Bailey," she announced when she caught Danielle's eye. "What a coincidence that I'd find you here."

Danielle herself froze; all possible escape routes scattered from her brain like scared mice. "Is it?" she gulped.

The woman held out her hand. Up close, Danielle could see that she wasn't nearly as young as she had seemed from afar: there were deep wrinkles carved into her face, and there was something hard in her dark eyes, as if she was just feigning politeness. "My name is Narcissa Malfoy," she said, and Danielle stifled a gasp, not daring to see Tom's reaction.

 _What is a Malfoy doing in a place like the Leaky Cauldron?_ briefly ran through her mind, but was overridden by the realization that this woman was the wife of one of Voldemort's most trusted Death Eaters. The Malfoy family had professed to turn their back on the "old" ways after Voldemort's defeat, but whispers still abounded that it was only to save what shards remained of their reputation.

"I wish to ask you a question, Miss Bailey," Narcissa continued, oblivious to Danielle's horror. "Thirteen years ago, when your family was in hiding during the Second Wizarding War, who were the Death Eaters who were sent after you?"

Danielle swallowed hard, but she could think of no way to get out of the situation. "I—I believe their names were Yaxley and Selwyn," she finally said, and saw Narcissa's eyes glitter.

"Thank you," the witch said after a moment, placing a hand on Danielle's shoulder. "I apologize for bringing such a difficult topic up, but word is out that there are some prisoners in Azkaban who are organizing an escape. I believe that Selwyn and Yaxley are among them. I felt it prudent to warn you, Miss Bailey."

"Well, thank you," Danielle said, unaware that she was shredding her napkin with her fingers.

"Would you mind passing on the information to your parents?" Narcissa asked. "It may become…useful to them sometime."

"Yeah, er, sure. I'll let them know," replied Danielle, who could think of nothing else to say.

The blonde witch gave her a firm pat on the shoulder before sashaying away, slipping out the door of the pub and disappearing into the crowds outside.

"She is lying," Tom murmured as soon as Narcissa had disappeared, causing Danielle to jump; he had been silent for their entire conversation. "She was merely looking for confirmation and is going to secretly communicate with them so they will have a clear path to you."

"Oh, Merlin," Danielle groaned; the puzzle pieces that had been eluding her for years had finally snapped together. The reason that there had been a breakout in Azkaban was because she was here _now_ , in 2011, telling Narcissa Malfoy the names of the two Death Eaters who had attempted to murder her family. And she would never have needed to use Dumbledore's _Vita Servo_ if she had never been captured by Yaxley and Selwyn. So the reason she had gone back to 1943 in the first place was because of something she had just done, but four years later. It was so unclear and convoluted that Danielle dropped her head into her hands, nearly knocking over her pumpkin juice.

A moment later she felt Tom grab her by the arms and pull her up, taking her wrist and nearly shoving her toward the staircase. Danielle mutely allowed him to lead her away, her head still spinning.

"She is not feeling very well," Tom said to the concerned barman as way of explanation, and didn't speak again until they had reached their room, at which point he locked the door and cast a Silencing Charm. "Explain," he commanded, staring haughtily down at her.

Danielle told him as concisely as she could about her recent discovery, ending with, "I know it might not seem like much to _you_ , but it's shocking to me. To think that my return back to the forties all had to do with something I said ten minutes ago…" She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. Time-travel never failed to tangle up her already complicated life even more. "And I don't understand how she knew I would be at the Leaky Cauldron. In case you haven't noticed, Malfoys don't tend to hang out here very often."

"Perhaps it was to do with Slytherin and Schefflur," Tom suggested. "They may have told her that you would likely be at the pub this evening, and she took the chance."

Danielle hadn't considered this, and her heart sank even more. "You're probably right again," she groaned. "This is way too confusing. Distract me somehow, Tom, so I don't go mad thinking about it."

"In what way?" he asked with a touch of dark amusement, his eyes sparking as he stepped toward her.

This time Danielle grabbed his hands and pulled him down onto the bed, rolling them over and kissing him as fiercely as she could while thinking that she might just have a chance to wear the dress again. They had barely gotten time to themselves in over a year, with Tom usually at the Ministry and Danielle first pregnant and then busy taking care of Will. She was ashamed to admit that she had nearly forgotten how wonderful it was to have Tom right beside her, within reach and brushing his lips across her skin. _I love you,_ she thought fervently, with a dizzying rush of desire, and for the first time in months, everything else fell away.

* * *

Slytherin and Schefflur arrived back in London at precisely ten-forty-five the next morning. Danielle could almost pinpoint the second when Tom's expression hardened as he caught sight of the map. They had spent an almost relaxed morning in bed and then eaten downstairs again—luckily, Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Danielle was almost beginning to feel optimistic about the day ahead when it all came crashing down around her again. "Let me guess," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "They're back?"

"They are at King's Cross," Tom replied shortly. He strode over to the door, not even glancing back to see if she was following.

Danielle's blood ran cold, as she thought, _They're going to try to…to kill me there. If they do manage to injure or kill me, I'm going to disappear_ _right away. This was definitely not supposed to happen, no matter what occurred in the original timeline._

That thought propelled her right after Tom and out onto the street, pausing only to throw a few Galleons at the barman as she hurried out the door. As soon as she rejoined Tom, they Apparated directly into King's Cross, where he cast a Disillusionment Charm on them both.

* * *

Danielle's heart was throwing itself against her ribcage when they reached Platform 9 3/4. She knew, of course, that Slytherin and Schefflur would most likely be in disguise as well, but she couldn't stop herself from searching the crowd nervously as they slipped through the throngs of people. Tom's fingers were curled around his wand, his expression alert. Danielle's own hand was shaking, but she kept it stuffed down inside her robes so Tom wouldn't have cause to comment.

They had only gotten through half the crowd when Danielle spotted none other than Harry Potter himself, at the platform to see his godson Teddy off. Now she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from saying anything, especially when she recognized Teddy's blue hair and friendly face. She could have sworn she saw Harry frown slightly when she and Tom slipped past them, but she told herself it was just her overactive imagination.

When they reached the end of the platform, away from the bustling, heaving crowds, Tom pulled Danielle into an alcove and consulted the map again. "They are under Disillusionment Charms as well," he was saying, but she was hardly listening to them; she had just caught sight of _herself_ , standing with her family in the distance. She strained to see her brother's and parents' faces more clearly, trying to memorize their features. Merlin, she had forgotten that her father's hair was that precise shade of black, or that Andy had been that tall…he was only thirteen and yet he was nearly a full head taller than her.

"Clara!" Tom snapped. He had followed her gaze and correctly guessed what she was looking at. "You cannot afford sentimentality right now—"

But his words were cut off by a jet of red light flying towards them. Tom blocked it right away and sent back a curse of his own. How had the two wizards known exactly where they were? And how on earth were they supposed to know who to duel if they couldn't even see their opponent?

Now another curse came flying at Danielle, this time from the opposite direction. She dove out of the way and it smashed into the wall beside her, knocking away several bricks. A few people on the platform had turned around to stare, but Tom muttered a spell under his breath and they quickly became very interested in the ground.

"Don't even bother trying to duel us," a voice declared from beside her, and Danielle fought to control her fear as she recognized Schefflur's menacing tone. An invisible hand grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. But this didn't escape the notice of Tom; with a wave of his wand the two men were revealed. Schefflur was standing next to Danielle, and she saw a much older, bearded man who somewhat resembled a monkey feet away from Tom. This was Salazar Slytherin, not looking a day over one hundred.

With a distinctly uncomfortable sensation, like a jar of cold water was being thrown over from her, the Disillusionment Charms on Tom and Danielle vanished, and they were completely visible to the world just as the two wizards were. "Now," Schefflur said in a soft, almost caressing voice, "We have come to an…agreement, shall we say. We will leave you and your friends alone if you give us the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone. Do not play dumb with us," he warned, glaring specifically at Danielle. "We know you have them."

"Not the Stone," she argued, realizing too late that she shouldn't have spoken at all.

Schefflur's sneer only widened. "Oh, I think you _do_ , little girl," he said, apparently disregarding the fact that Danielle was twenty and had a child. "And as for you, Riddle…Salazar has been wishing to speak to you for many months. He believes that you owe him, since, after all, he is the one who showed you how to create a Horcrux."

"I owe him nothing," Tom said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle saw that Slytherin's hand rested on a most unusual wand: it was covered with strange markings and appeared permanently bent, as if it had been used as a toy instead of a wand.

 _He has the Elder Wand,_ Danielle thought, panicked. She grabbed Tom and hissed, "There's no way we can defeat them in any sort of duel."

But Tom pretended not to hear her; he stood still for a long moment, his eyes moving between Slytherin and Schefflur. And then he moved as fast as lightning—before Danielle could even blink, both wizards were tied up against the wall, struggling against their invisible bonds. "You may have time and experience on your side," he said, his tone almost musing, "But I am quicker."

Schefflur laughed; the sound must have been audible even to those getting on the train. "Use your tricks all you want, boy," he sneered. "Just because you have won battles does not mean you can win wars." With an almost deafening crack, he and Slytherin disappeared. Danielle instantly reached for the map, but they had completely vanished. They were not anywhere on the planet.

"Tom, where did they go?" she asked, trying very hard not to let her voice rise in hysteria.

Next to her, Tom was looking murderous, his eyes full of hatred. "To another point in this timeline," he said, clenching his jaw so tightly Danielle wondered how his teeth didn't shatter. "They realized that they cannot entrap you here."

"Me?" Danielle echoed. "What about you? Don't they want you too?"

"Yes, but they know you are the weaker link. If anything, they will capture you and force you to confess where the remaining Hallows are before killing you. Then they will destroy my Horcrux so they can safely dispose of me," Tom explained. He took a step backward, but his eyes landed on her arm, allowing a look of surprise to cross his expression. When Danielle glanced down, she realized with a terrible shock that she was beginning to fade again.

"Oh, Merlin, no," she said, and balled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "They've gone back in time again."

Now Tom looked urgent. He grabbed her arm, nearly shaking it as he demanded, "Do you have any idea where they would have gone, Clara? You must have some knowledge—"

Danielle's mind was working a mile a minute. They would have wanted to go somewhere they would have the upper hand…which would likely be in the Department of Mysteries. And they would want to make it as difficult as possible for Tom and Danielle to chase them. That left only one date where the Department of Mysteries would be nearly impossible to break into, due to the amount of people who would be there. Danielle's stomach rolled as she came to a conclusion—the Battle of the Department of Mysteries was something of a legend, and she knew, somehow, that date was the correct one.

"Tom," she gasped. "I think I know where they've gone."


	35. Time's Parallel Path

Danielle had, for once, been correct in one of her assumptions. As soon as her surroundings blurred and refocused back around her, she was able to think more clearly and rationalize their situation. Her hands were no longer fading, and she nearly collapsed to the ground in sheer relief.

"Get up, Clara," Tom ordered, hauling her to her feet. "We do not have time for your histrionics."

"They're not _histrionics_ ," Danielle muttered, rubbing her arm where his fingers had dug into her skin. "They're a perfectly normal reaction to practically being erased out of existence."

"A situation in which you have found yourself numerous times before," Tom shot back. He stuffed the Time-Turner into her hands, where it ticked merrily, the new date proclaiming it was now _18/06/1996._ They'd Apparated into an alleyway just outside the Ministry building, and the omnipresent sound of traffic rumbled in the distance.

"Why did Schefflur say," Danielle panted, "That we have the Resurrection Stone?"

Tom's eyes flicked momentarily to her, as if deciding what was best to tell her. "We do."

She staggered backward as if she had been hit, all the air knocked out of her. "Huh? But…that's impossible. We only have the Cloak…"

" _Think_ about it," Tom snapped irritably as he cast a Disillusionment Charm over them and strode out of the alleyway. "It is not as if it would be in plain sight."

Danielle trailed after him, lost in thought. Unless it was Transfigured or hidden, she was sure that she had never seen the Stone before…and how would Schefflur and Slytherin knew they had it? She glanced down at her feet, her eyebrows furrowed as she pondered—and then her eyes caught on her wedding ring, glinting dully in the sunlight. She remembered her engagement ring—Marvolo Gaunt's ring—and the odd symbol carved onto it.

 _Merlin._ How had she not seen it before? It had been right in front of her eyes the entire time—she had been so blind—

Meanwhile, Tom was already on the other side of the road, walking purposefully toward the telephone box that concealed the entrance to the Ministry. Danielle dashed across the street without checking for traffic, and when she caught up with him she snatched a newspaper from a stand next to the telephone, rolled it up, and cuffed him over the head with it. Tom immediately spun around, glaring daggers at her. _"What the bloody_ —Clara, you are completely mad," he snarled, grabbing her wrist so she couldn't hit him again.

"That," she declared, refusing to back down, "was for not telling me about the Stone. All those times I complained about my family, and you didn't even imply that I was able to speak to them again—"

"I only found out recently," Tom argued, Vanishing the newspaper and pulling her into the telephone box. A middle-aged Muggle couple walking past gave them conspiratorial smiles, as if they thought Tom and Danielle were merely a teenaged couple looking for privacy. "Holstone told me when I last visited him. Clara, this is not the time for petty quarrels. You of all people should know that time-travel is not to be played around with—"

"Of course I know that," Danielle argued. "You'd think I wouldn't just willingly waltz into somewhere I know Voldemort is going to be for the _fun_ of it."

She was sure that nothing she had ever said had took him that much by surprise. Tom's mouth fell open, pure shock crossing his features. "Voldemort," he echoed, and there was a definite wariness, mixed with a good deal of curiosity, in his voice.

"Along with Harry Potter and about five of his friends," Danielle replied. "I knew that Slytherin and Schefflur would want to lure us here when so much could go wrong. If I'm not mistaken, we have about two hours to find them and get out of here before everybody else shows up."

* * *

The Time Room looked exactly the same as it was fifty years ago; the same Time-Turners were still safely sealed in the rows of cabinets, and the room sparkled with the same unearthly light. Danielle felt a strange sense of comfort as soon as she walked inside; she could almost pretend she was just arriving for another workday.

Tom was in front of her, holding his wand aloft and moving stealthily around the desks. This was the most obvious place—at least in Danielle's reasoning—that the two men would be; it was also the place where they would be safest, surrounded by the Time-Turners. As she wove her way behind Tom, she kept her eyes fixed on the watch glittering on his wrist. If, for whatever reason, he was unable to bring them back to their own timeline, Danielle realized she had absolutely no idea how to work it. She would have to hope that Tom knew what he was doing.

They had nearly reached the back of the room where the offices were when she dimly heard a crash from behind her. Tom, hearing it too, spun around, every muscle in his body tense. "Maybe it's just an Unspeakable," Danielle tried to convince herself, but pressing herself closer to him.

"It is too late for there to be anyone in the Department," Tom replied tersely. Danielle made to speak, but he thrust his hand over her mouth, pulling her close against his side. She would have been flattered if she wasn't so terrified.

But instead of the soft, hissing whisper of Voldemort, she heard what sounded like a group of teenagers, none of them bothering to keep their voices down. All were expressing shock at the sight of the room before them. To be honest, she felt that this was, in a way, more terrifying than if it actually _had_ been Voldemort.

"Damn," Danielle hissed. "They're earlier than I thought." Now it was her turn to lead the way, grabbing Tom's hand and pulling him deeper into the room, toward the offices. Luckily, he made no move to resist.

But before they reached the offices, Danielle had a sudden idea: instead of looking for somewhere to hide, she reached out and darted through the nearest door, hearing Tom's exasperated hiss as, once again, she refused to do what she had been told.

"I've never been in here," she explained, closing the door tightly behind them and taking a step forward. "But I figured it might be easier to stay hidden in here rather than the offices."

The Hall of Prophecy was a dark, seemingly endless room lined with thousands upon thousands of shelves of silver orbs, unpleasantly reminding Danielle of Divination class. Each of the glass balls had a mass of silver fog swirling inside of them, lit by some unknown source. _"Lumos,"_ she muttered, holding her wand up high in the air. There appeared to be no end to the shelves, and she wondered just how many prophecies the room held. Surely there weren't that many true Seers in the world, were there?

Danielle and Tom made their way through the shelves, looking for an alternate exit. By the time they finally managed to locate the opposite side of the room, she was completely disoriented and, in fact, had absolutely no idea in the direction from which they had come. Now she understood why Bode had forbidden her from going inside—it was likely that the large percentage of witches and wizards who accidentally stumbled inside wouldn't be able to find their own way out.

"Clara," Tom said sharply, but his words weren't directed at her. He was staring at one of the prophecies, his expression unreadable, and Danielle peered over his shoulder. She let out a small gasp when she read the label:

 _S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D_  
Dark Lord  
and (?) Harry Potter

Tom was already reaching out toward it, but Danielle grabbed his hand. "Don't," she urged. "It has nothing to do with you."

"It has my name on it, Clara," he replied, forcing her hand away.

"But you're not the Dark Lord!" she cried, her voice growing shriller. "Not if I have anything to do with it—"

And she was abruptly cut off as, for the second time, voices floated towards them from the other end of the room. Danielle knew instinctively that it was Harry Potter and his friends again. "And of course they would have to come in here," she muttered to herself. "Bloody fantastic." Glancing sideways at Tom, whose eyes were flickering back and forth between her and the prophecy as if gauging what the best possible course of action should be, Danielle commanded, "Wait here!" and ran to the end of the aisle, peering around the corner as she saw wandlight bouncing off the ends of the shelves in the distance and coming steadily closer.

"I _know_ he was here, Hermione, I saw it—"

"This room's a bit creepy, mate, maybe we should scarper—"

"—Neville, watch out, you nearly knocked over that prophecy!"

Danielle drew back into the shadows, mentally smacking herself on the forehead. _Of course_ Harry Potter would be coming straight for them! No doubt he wanted the prophecy as well. Turning back, she was about to call for Tom, but was met with an empty aisle. Blinking in surprise, Danielle hurried back to where he had been previously standing. The prophecy was still there, but Tom wasn't. "Tom?" she whispered as loud as she dared, walking over to the next aisle. But he wasn't there either, and she tried not to let her imagination go into overdrive. Perhaps he had spotted Schefflur or Slytherin…

"Looking for anyone… _Danielle?_ " a malicious voice breathed in her ear. Danielle whirled around to see Schefflur standing right next to her, his yellow teeth bared.

" _Stupefy!"_ she yelled, but Schefflur dodged the spell and it ricocheted off the wall, smashing right into the nearest row of prophecies. The glass orbs shattered on the ground, and the white fog began to drift upward, concealing Schefflur from sight. Ghostly voices were now speaking, cutting off whatever countercurse he might have employed:

"… _and there shall never be another war like it…"_

"… _born to the most unlikely of parents, he will hold the power of both worlds in his hands…"_

Danielle spun on her heel and ran, nearly crying with relief when she spotted a door at the end of one of the rows. _I need to get out of here,_ she thought frantically. _I need to lead him away from the others._

Another curse whizzed by her, and she ducked, tripping over her own feet and nearly losing her balance, but adrenaline helped her right herself and she cast a Shield Charm around her—although she didn't know how long it would last against Schefflur's curses—keeping her eyes fixed on the door. " _Alohomora!"_ she screamed, and it swung open. She hurtled through it, using all her momentum to slam it behind her and lock it with as strong of a spell as she could manage.

Danielle shut her eyes tightly and braced herself for Schefflur's curses to pierce the barrier, but time slowly stretched on, and there was no sound from the other side of the door, let alone any curses. She tentatively cracked open one eye, suddenly aware that she might have run straight into a trap.

The room she was in was significantly smaller than both the Hall of Prophecy and the Time Room, but it held a mysterious aura that she couldn't quite explain and that both aforementioned rooms lacked. Danielle could _feel_ the magic in the air, feel it in her lungs and on her tongue. It was filled with some elusive charm that she could sense, if not understand.

There was an enormous fountain in the middle of the room, similar to the one that adorned the Atrium—but the water flowing from this one was clearer and purer, and the fountain was made of pure gold. Danielle took a step shakily toward it, realizing that it wasn't water at all but a thicker liquid that smelled enticing, like honey and fresh parchment and flowers mixed up in one heavenly combination. _Amortentia,_ Danielle thought, leaning over the side of the fountain and frowning at the concoction. Why would the Ministry have such a large quantity of the potion? Could this be the Love Chamber she had once tried to get into but found the door locked? And why hadn't Schefflur followed her?

The room itself was nothing special, though it was high-ceilinged and painted blue, as if mimicking the colour of the sky. At first glance, the fountain appeared to be the only object in the area, but Danielle noticed that the back wall was made entirely of glass, like a mirror. The fountain, however, wasn't reflected in the glass.

Curious, Danielle straightened up and walked toward it—the room behind her appeared bare, and the ceiling in the glass was a much lighter shade of blue. She was aware that she should be looking for Tom, not exploring the Department of Mysteries, but some uncontrollable power was propelling her to the wall, just as it had led her to the fountain of Amortentia.

Danielle herself was reflected in the mirror—but she was not the only one present. Next to her was Tom, one hand on her shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection; and there was Will, Will as a teenager—tall and curly-haired, still with Tom's blue eyes but wearing Ravenclaw robes; and two dark-haired girls she had never seen before. Surrounding them were Alyssa, Alphard, Dylan and Felicity. A girl with auburn hair and a fierce expression stood in front of Dylan, while a pair of identical brown-haired boys flanked the group. She was unsure if she was looking into a mirror that showed the future—or what she _wanted_ the future to be like. Her reflection smiled blandly at her, and Danielle had to literally force herself away from the mirror or she knew she would be staring at it forever.

Now, at least, she understood why the Chamber had been locked: the Unspeakables who worked here must be studying the Amortentia and its effects on the mind and body. Surely the Ministry wouldn't want its employees heavily drugged and under a love potion running amok through the rest of it. Perhaps some careless witch or wizard had left the door connecting it to the Hall of Prophecy open, therefore inadvertently saving Danielle's life. But that still didn't explain the strange vision she had seen in the mirror—or had it just been a glass wall? She turned back around to stare at it again, as if the image had suddenly changed, but it was still the same.

Danielle ran a hand through her hair, trying to push thoughts of the room out of her mind, and headed towards the main door, her wand at the ready. Although she appeared to be safe there, she knew she wouldn't be able to hide in it forever. There was no predicting where Tom was and what he was doing. Maybe he had spotted Slytherin and gone after him, leaving Danielle to deal with Schefflur. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had left her completely confused, with no idea what she was supposed to do.

Danielle wrenched open the main door—luckily it opened from the inside—and stepped out into the dark, cool entrance room, the light from the blue torches burning her eyes. It was a blessing that she wasn't ambushed right away, since she was temporarily blinded by the sudden absence of light.

No sound issued from behind any of the doors, so she threw open the closest one, her heart sinking when she was met with a stifling darkness. Trust her to run headlong into the Space Chamber.

Danielle began to jog forward, hoping that she would eventually come across the dim light emanating from the models of the planets. She had no idea how large the room was, especially if it contained models of all the known planets and stars. For all she knew, it could be the size of the Hall of Prophecy.

A cackling laugh echoed through the room, and Danielle stopped dead. It was a female laugh, high and shrill. "Where's the Potter brat?" it screeched, and sure enough, she could feel the ripple of dark magic in the air. She knew who the woman was instantly; after all, she had read about her in countless History of Magic textbooks.

 _Bellatrix Lestrange._ She was notorious for her unhinged, wild personality, and it was a well-known fact that she had been in love with Voldemort, if she was of the type that could even understand the emotion.

The Horcrux locket flared up, and Danielle involuntarily cried out at the scorching pain. As if she was being pulled by some strong current, she was yanked out of her own mind and into Tom's: he was backed up against a wall at the other end of the Space Chamber—Schefflur and Slytherin had cornered him. The three of them were locked in an intense duel, flashes of light and bangs going off every second. It was only a matter of time before Bellatrix discovered them. So Danielle ran.

She knew she'd done many stupid things in her life, but running away from Tom and getting herself lost when Voldemort could be around any corner had to take the cake. After so many victories, she had begun to ever rule out the possibility that she might someday fail.

" _Tom!"_ she screamed as she ran, unable to see anything in the darkness. The glow of the planets wasn't even visible. Her vision was completely cut off.

Danielle's frantic attempt to escape was halted when she slammed right into someone else—she was thrown backwards, winded and every bone in her body aching fiercely.

"Well, well, well, what do we have _here_?" she heard Bellatrix laugh, and Danielle struggled in vain as the witch roughly grabbed her by the arm, shouting, "My Lord! Come have a look at this!"

She felt Bellatrix snatch her wand out of her hand, and Danielle could barely fight back—she was no use against one of Voldemort's most powerful Death Eaters. Without warning, Bellatrix shoved her so hard she was sent reeling, and after struggling to right herself, Danielle fell, landing directly on her stomach. A wave of crippling nausea stabbed through her, although she couldn't imagine why.

"Are you with the Potter boy, little one?" Bellatrix hissed in her ear, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her up; Danielle was suddenly glad for the darkness, since it meant she couldn't see the witch's face. "I didn't see you before…clever little thing, you are."

Danielle refused to speak, since she had no idea what words would help or hinder her. Tom was probably still dueling with Schefflur and Slytherin. If he managed to defeat both wizards, he would surely search for her…but who would he meet in the process? Danielle knew that he couldn't see Voldemort at any cost. There was no predicting the consequences. But oh, Merlin, she'd _really_ gotten herself stuck this time. She didn't have the Time-Turner or the wristwatch to help her out, and the chances of Tom actually finding her were slim. And if Harry saw him, he would surely recognize Tom Riddle…her thoughts began to sink down into despair, and she imagined what would happen to Will once she was dead. She hoped that Alyssa and Alphard would take good care of him and raise him as a son—if that didn't turn out, then they could give him to Dylan and Felicity or even Billy and Matilda. Danielle's mouth was very dry as she thought about all the possible ways that Bellatrix would attempt to kill her…the Cruciatus Curse was the most obvious, of course, but perhaps the witch would think of something a little bit more inventive…Danielle was now sweating so much that the cold stone floor was no longer a welcome relief, and her teeth were chattering in pure terror.

"Do you even know who your master is?" she snapped, the words involuntarily leaving her mouth. Danielle was just as surprised as Bellatrix by this question; the witch's hands loosened on her.

"Don't try to distract me, little girl," she laughed. "It's not going to work!" She sang the last sentence, her voice a triumphant crow.

But Danielle saw her chance, and she took it without hesitation. "Just answer this: have you ever heard of the name _Tom Riddle?"_

Again, Bellatrix was taken by surprise, and Danielle took advantage of this to kick her as hard as she could. Bellatrix hadn't prepared for such a primitive attack, and Danielle rolled right out from under her, snatching up her wand and casting a Shield Charm. Jumping to her feet, Danielle began to sprint away, the sound of her footsteps deafening. The Horcrux hadn't burned again, and it was impossible to tell where Tom was, if he was even still in the chamber—

"I see you have caught one of Potter's friends, Bella," a high-pitched, cold voice issued out of the darkness, and a pair of glowing red eyes materialized in front of her. Danielle skidded to a stop, her mind wiped completely blank.

She had found Tom—but it certainly hadn't been the one she'd envisioned.


	36. The Fate's Illusion

Perhaps it was all Danielle's fault that she had gotten herself into the situations she did. Perhaps she had nobody but herself to blame. Maybe Fate was an illusion, and the only person who controlled her destiny was herself.

But perhaps it was impossible to put the entire burden on one person. There were many events that had been outside her control, events that could only be chalked up to Fate or some higher power meddling in her affairs. She had been through too many perilous situations for it to count as mere coincidence anymore.

And perhaps it was a mixture of both. Fate threw obstacles at her, but it was her choice how to deal with them.

* * *

" _Good evening. I don't believe I have seen you before."_

" _Tom, this is Miss Clara Ashford. She's Hogwarts' newest student."_

" _Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Ashford. I hope that you will enjoy it here."_

* * *

But she had, most certainly, not chosen to fall in love with Tom Riddle. That part was inarguable. What she _had_ chosen, however, was her course of action afterwards. She could have bottled up her feelings and sealed them tightly away, never giving him a second glance and going back to her own time with nothing but a smile and maybe a twinge of regret that she had never taken the other path.

* * *

" _Tom Riddle is the most big-headed, conceited, egotistical, twisted,_ sick _person I have ever met. What's_ not _to hate about him?"_

* * *

She had seen him at his worst, when he was coughing up blood and deathly pale. She had loved him when she had known he would never feel the same way about her. She had loved him when he didn't even seem human.

But he _was_.

No matter how much he tried to hide it, no matter how many barriers he put up between himself and the world, Tom Riddle was human.

Maybe she was the only one who had ever cared enough to look beneath the surface.

* * *

" _Don't do this to me, Tom. Either stay or leave. Just don't keep me wondering if I'll ever see you again."_

* * *

At first, it had seemed like a hopeless case. Falling in love with the future Voldemort? It was easy to argue that she deserved what was coming to her if she had willingly chosen to stay by his side.

But Tom was human. Voldemort wasn't.

And that made all the difference.

* * *

" _I care about you more than I can ever remember caring about anyone. But that is all I can say, Clara. If you want a long, drawn-out passionate declaration of undying love you are not going to get it from me."_

" _I know. I've never really been the type to want Prince Charming, anyway."_

* * *

He had told her he could never love her. Maybe that had been his way of offering her an escape route, displaying as much thoughtfulness as it was possible for him to have.

But then…

* * *

" _Clara, I understand what you meant. What you said to me last year. About love."_

" _You're in love with me?"_

" _What does it_ look _like, you ridiculous girl?"_

* * *

Tom had been wrong. He _had_ fallen in love with her. Despite his best efforts, he had been no more master of his fate than Danielle had.

* * *

" _The one thing I will not do to become Voldemort is let go of you. The one thing I will not do for you is destroy the Horcrux."_

* * *

But a happy ending with Tom Riddle wasn't possible. She would grow old and die someday, while he would remain immortal and unchanging. What would he do once she was gone? There was no chance that he would destroy the Horcrux now of his own accord and die with her.

Tom certainly wasn't capable of making such a selfless decision.

Danielle wasn't even sure she was either.

* * *

" _You can't even say that—"_

"— _That I am in love with you. And I_ am _in love with you. Is that all you want, Clara? Do words really mean more to you than everything I have done?"_

* * *

It was unlikely that she would actually _live_ to grow old, with the direction her life was taking. She kept making mistake after mistake, getting herself into idiotic situation after idiotic situation…her luck surely wouldn't last forever. She would have to pay the price one of these days.

In one of her nightmares, Voldemort had told her that she was always destined to die at Tom's hands. Staring up at his malicious red eyes now, Danielle knew he had been right. What a cruel irony it was, to be killed by the person she had tried most desperately to save.

Perhaps she shouldn't give up so easily. If there was one thing Clara Ashford would not do, it was to quietly sit back and let death come for her. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. Not now, not after she had spent so much time trying to save Tom. Her death would make him revert back to his old self, or something very close to it.

Now she had the element of surprise. Voldemort wasn't expecting to see her, and her Tom was still around somewhere. Surely Schefflur and Slytherin wouldn't stand a chance against the near-immortal, most powerful Dark wizard to have ever existed. So Danielle tightened her grip on her wand, steeled herself, and prepared to fight.

Hope was not lost.

Not yet.

* * *

" _You believe that you are the only one who has given up everything. But yet you, Clara, have not seemed to grasp the fact that I have also given myself to you."_

* * *

But even if she were to die for good here, at the hands of the very person she had fallen in love with, no matter how warped and twisted he was in this timeline, she wouldn't change any of her decisions. She would have relived every single moment over again if she had to—even the pain, the fear, and the agony. In the end, it had been worth it.

Was it?


	37. Desperate Measures

If Danielle had ever needed Dumbledore's _Vita Servo,_ this was it. Everything around her seemed to shimmer and melt away as she stared into Voldemort's red eyes. She had no hope that he would spare her life—after all, if he hadn't spared her in the Forbidden Forest, why would she have reason to believe he would do it now? No, all she had on her side was the element of surprise, and that was only liable to last a few seconds at most.

 _Protego Maxima,_ Danielle thought as fervently as she could. She felt a Shield Charm burst into existence around her, sparing her life for another moment. Oddly enough, the noise seemed to vanish around her, and she saw rather than heard Voldemort's scream of fury, saw his mouth snarl the words _Clara Ashford—_

And something slammed into her with such force that she was thrown backwards, landing on the stone floor several feet away. She wasn't sure if her Shield Charm had broken or not, so she quickly cast another one before scrambling to her feet, searching for what—or who—had caused the collision.

A grotesque, sneering face loomed up in front of her, and Danielle instinctively cast a Stunning Spell at Schefflur, who, she realized with horror, had cornered her. Voldemort and Bellatrix were nowhere to be seen, and neither were Tom or Slytherin.

"Got you," Schefflur murmured in her ear, so close that Danielle could almost feel his lips. A sudden wave of disgust and revulsion rose up inside her, and she blindly kicked out. Her foot came into contact with a hard metal barrier, and she couldn't conceal her gasp as she fell back against the wall, her teeth digging into her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood.

Schefflur was standing over her, a triumphant grin on his features that had once been handsome, his wand pointed at her throat. "Not so fierce now, are we?" Before Danielle could answer, he grabbed her arm and she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt them Disapparate, trying to struggle out of his grasp.

When her feet found solid ground again she spun away from him, casting Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell at him. Schefflur only laughed, dodging them with ease as he strode towards her. Danielle had a sinking feeling he was holding back, and was just waiting until he became annoyed with her before he really put effort into it.

They were in the entryway, the floor spinning crazily and the torches burning blue streaks across the backs of Danielle's eyes. The sounds of battle were still audible from the other rooms, and she had no idea where the exit was. She used to know—Schefflur himself had told her when he was still disguised as Holstone—but she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything. Terror had paralyzed her, slowing down the speed of her thoughts and reactions.

"I am going to kill you, Clara Ashford," Schefflur said in a low voice. He had stopped in place and was now surveying her with a detached, clinical interest. "I am going to kill you in front of your husband, slowly and painfully. I will laugh at his rage before I kill him in turn, vanquishing his immortality. And then I will bring your bodies back to 1947, where Lorcan McLaird will explain how a stupid little girl changed the course of the timeline, and how polite, charming Tom Riddle was destined to become the next Dark Lord. You might even say I am…doing the world a favour."

"Shut up," Danielle hissed, although she was shaking. "Slytherin is going to eventually kill you. He is only using you—"

"And _I_ am not merely using _him?"_ Schefflur shrugged. His tone was still lighthearted, a complete turnaround from his previous behaviour. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Once the entire wizarding community knows of your actions, I shall take your son and raise him as my own. Salazar will re-administer the curse, and he shall die in the same way that his father should have."

"But you said you wouldn't touch Will, that Slytherin wanted his descendants to survive—"

"Do you mean that you actually _believed_ that? You are even more idiotic than I thought. Surely you do not possess the maturity or the intelligence to reproduce. It's a shame, really. Salazar wanted you to be killed while you were carrying the child. He would have succeeded if that wretched Dumbledore hadn't interfered, like he always does. Why do you think Salazar only stepped out of the shadows when Riddle found a cure for the curse? He's kept an eye on his descendants for centuries. He was proud of them until that filthy blood traitor married a Muggle and tainted the Gaunt line forever. It was not without great regret that Salazar made the decision to eradicate his line."

Danielle's head was spinning. All this time, she had thought that Slytherin and Schefflur's goal was to let Will live, and it was her and Tom who were in danger. But she had been foolish. She had overestimated herself. Dimly, she could see two figures moving on the opposite end of the room, but she paid them no heed. It was too dark to see anything properly—with luck, they would just think she was an ally.

"It will be a privilege to watch the light leave your son's eyes," Schefflur was crowing, trying to provoke her. "Dead before he even has a chance to truly live—"

Rage boiled up inside Danielle; rage such as she had never felt before. It was with a half-crazed mind that she raised her wand and bellowed out, _"Crucio!"_ at Schefflur.

He was blasted off his feet, landing in the middle of the floor, but he wasn't down for long. "You think you can cast an Unforgivable Curse on me, Mrs Riddle?" he taunted. "I, who am a master of disguise and who knows the secret to immortality?"

" _Crucio!"_ Danielle screamed again. This time Schefflur let out a cry of pain; he tried to block the curse but wasn't fast enough. Danielle knew she wouldn't be able to keep him down for long—it was taking every ounce of her mental concentration to hold the curse, and she was already beginning to weaken.

The two shadowy figures had nearly reached her by now, and with a surge of relief she saw that one of them was Tom, seeming as unruffled and untouched as ever. Unfortunately, the other one was Slytherin. He and Tom were still dueling fiercely, flashes of light brightening the room.

Tom turned his head, and caught Danielle's gaze: he looked almost proud. In her subsequent confusion, the curse was broken and Schefflur lay unmoving on the floor but panting loudly, a badly bleeding cut slashed across his throat. Danielle was horrified at herself: she had never believed she would be able to cast the Cruciatus Curse on someone—even if it was Schefflur. But the fury that was still rushing through her veins told her otherwise.

While Schefflur was struggling to stand and Slytherin was momentarily held back by a Shield Charm, Tom hissed, "Turn the dial back, Clara," and threw the wristwatch at her. Danielle caught it neatly and immediately began to twist the knob, but she realized too late that she had absolutely no idea how to use it or how to get them back to 1947. She gulped and, glancing up at the wizards dueling in front of her, knew that she had nothing to lose: mustering up what little energy she had left, she cast a bubble over the four of them, enveloping the room in a burst of golden light. At the same time, she prepared a mental picture in her mind of _her_ timeline, thinking of Will and Alyssa and Alphard and Dylan—

Danielle was jerked sideways, but she hadn't Apparated: she heard Schefflur let out a stream of curses and Tom's answering threat, low and deadly. When her surroundings came back into focus she noted with disappointment that they were still in the Entrance Chamber; nothing appeared to have changed except for the fact she could no longer hear the duels in the other rooms, which was probably a good sign.

Schefflur stumbled to his feet and Danielle jumped away from him lest he try to attack her again, but this time his eyes weren't on her: he was glaring at Tom, his face absolutely livid. "What did you say, Riddle?" he snapped.

Tom seemed unfazed as he replied, "I merely pointed out that it was no surprise your wife left you. In fact, it is a wonder she stayed with you in the first place—"

The other wizard moved so fast Danielle barely saw it happen: he threw himself at Tom and punched him squarely in the jaw. But Tom, used to years of his childhood being bullied at the orphanage, grabbed him by the collar and whispered something under his breath. It was only two words, but Danielle recognized the green flash of light that lit up the room, briefly reflecting Slytherin across the chamber, who had taken the momentary distraction to spin on his heel and disappear. She let out a cry and started across the room toward him, but the old wizard had already vanished.

Blinking the light out of her eyes, Danielle abruptly changed course and instead hurried for Tom, who had released his grip on Schefflur's body and was looking triumphant. "Are you sure he's dead?" she asked him, which was probably the stupidest thing she could have said. But after the events of the past twenty-four hours, Danielle wouldn't have been at all surprised if her family had walked up to her and explained that her entire time in the past had all been a very, _very_ vivid dream and she would wake up back in 2011.

"Yes," was all Tom answered. He looked sideways at her, and she reached up to gently wipe the blood from his jaw. "You have surprised me, Clara. I did not think you capable of using the Cruciatus Curse." The proud and almost fond look was back in his eyes now.

"I know," Danielle said quietly, looking down at Schefflur's blank, dead eyes. "Me neither."

* * *

They had, by some miracle, made it back to their original timeline and year. Tom had taken the wristwatch from Schefflur's hand, and when he wasn't looking—although Danielle knew full well he was aware of what she was doing—had taken both wristwatches and tossed them into the Thames as soon as they'd left the Ministry. Before they'd left, she had returned her Time-Turner to the Time Room, already dreaming up ways in which the stock of Time-Turners could be destroyed forever. It had been, she realized, a very unwise idea to even think up the invention in the first place.

They Apparated to the Blacks' manor not long afterwards, and Danielle filled him in on Schefflur's speech, making it clear that she was worried Slytherin would try to harm Will. She wasn't sure whether she was imagining Tom's subsequent disquiet, or if there was a very real flicker of concern deep in his eyes. "If you wish to protect him, Clara, you cannot leave him with your friends any longer. They cannot properly defend themselves, let alone an infant."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her desperation.

"You will have to make a choice: either you stay with him at all times and protect him yourself, or send him somewhere else until the danger is past."

Danielle's heart immediately began to beat faster. "What do you mean, 'send him somewhere else'? Are you suggesting I give him up?"

"Of course not," Tom snapped. "I am not going to give up my son. I was speaking of temporary measures—Vauxhall Orphanage, for instance."

Danielle stopped short, her mouth dropping open. "You want to send Will _there?"_ she nearly shouted, unable to bear the thought of him growing up in the musty, forbidding orphanage. "The place you hate most in the world? That's worse than giving him up—"

" _Temporarily,"_ Tom stressed, looking annoyed by the entire conversation. "And before you ask the inevitable question, Clara, yes, I have accepted the fact I have a son who is the last remaining Gaunt descendant and who is now the Heir of Slytherin," he said, his lip curling making it clear how much he disliked the notion. "Whether or not I wished to have a child, what is done is done."

Black Manor had appeared over the crest of the hill, and Danielle kept her eyes fixed on its tallest turret as she forced the thought of Will in Vauxhall Orphanage out of her mind. She turned the subject instead to a question that had been spinning around her brain since the duel.

"What did you mean," she asked curiously, "When you were taunting Schefflur about his wife? It was enough to make him snap—"

"I have been doing research on him since I discovered his identity," said Tom, the self-importance beginning to creep back into his voice. "While he was still a professor in Germany, he was married for a brief time before his wife left him for another man. I suspect it was probably that incident that led him to seek revenge—he killed both her and her new husband—and throw himself into his work."

Danielle was silent for a moment; she hated feeling sorry for Schefflur. "Love makes you weak," she mumbled after a while, expecting Tom to agree.

But he didn't respond right away—it took a surprising amount of time before he said, "You do not truly believe that," in a slightly amused tone. Danielle looked quizzically at him, but he didn't elaborate.

* * *

Alphard and Alyssa were still sitting outside when Danielle stepped into their back garden. Will was crawling around the patio, chasing their very unimpressed, yowling cat as he tried to grab its tail. Danielle scooped him up right away, pressing her lips to the side of his head and breathing in his comforting scent. Will reluctantly turned his attention to her, grabbing one of her curls in his chubby little hand and laughing when she winced in pain.

"You've been gone for barely an hour!" Alyssa exclaimed, pushing herself up from her chair and wobbling over to them. Tom, of course, smoothly stepped aside and pretended to be admiring the garden.

"It feels like it's been a bit longer than that," muttered Danielle. She felt a stab of guilt as she stared at her friends' expectant faces, knowing that she owed them an explanation, but she had no idea how to begin, no idea how to predict their reactions even if she only told them part of the truth. "We were just…tied up."

"Tied up how?" Alphard asked inquisitively but kindly.

"Er, um…" Danielle looked over at Tom for help, but he was studiously ignoring them. "Birthday surprise," she lied. "It's a bit late…"

Alyssa's face hardened. "You don't need to lie to us, Clara," she said, and flounced back inside the house. Alphard gave them an apologetic smile before going to calm his wife.

Danielle gazed mournfully down at the squirming baby in her arms before turning back to Tom, feeling more alone than ever.


	38. Open at the Close

Danielle spent the remainder of the day feeling numb, not quite able to process the fact that Schefflur was dead and that she had used the Cruciatus Curse on him. It had been necessary, she knew, but something that still gnawed deep inside her, pricking at her conscience. He had deserved every bit of it, and perhaps even more, but Danielle couldn't turn into a heartless, remorseless killer like Tom despite having known him for years. Sometimes having a sense of right and wrong turned out to be a detriment rather than a blessing.

But at least now they only had one enemy to worry about. Slytherin had fled, and Tom was confident that they were safe for the moment, as he would want to hide and re-evaluate his plans before striking again. This bought them only a matter of days, but Danielle would take any reprieve she could get.

There was, however, another factor that she hadn't taken into account, and that was Will. If what Schefflur had said was true—and she suspected it was—Slytherin would want to get his hands on their son first. Danielle didn't like the option of guarding him at all times, since that would be akin to putting him right in the middle of danger, but on the other hand she couldn't bear giving him to Mrs Cole, even if it was only for a short period of time. She would normally consider giving him to Minnie to look after, but the house-elf was still at St Mungo's and likely would be for the next week.

After she had put Will to bed, she dragged herself to their bedroom, briefly lamenting the fact that she had left the red dress back in 2011, but unable to muster up any semblance of regret. She felt tired and drained and older than she ever had.

Tom was brooding as usual, staring out the window with his hands clenched tightly into fists and his back to her. He stood perfectly still, looking every bit like a human statue. But Danielle barely noticed his looks anymore. They had used to stun her, to make her feel like an ugly duckling when she stood next him, but after knowing someone for so long, perhaps one got used to their appearance, whether they were exceptionally handsome or exceptionally disfigured. Danielle didn't see a ridiculously handsome young man anymore—he would forever be a young man, now—she merely saw Tom Riddle. Her husband.

"I was thinking that we could send Will to Hogwarts," Danielle said, breaking the silence. Her voice cracked in exhaustion, but she forced herself to press on. "He would be safe there."

"In the care of whom?" Tom replied, striking down her idea with his usual condescension. "Do you believe that Slytherin cannot find ways to get into the castle when he built a secret chamber in its depths? If anything, that is where he will expect us to go first."

 _Well, I was just trying to help,_ Danielle wanted to snap back, but she sank down onto the bed instead, closing her fingers around the locket Horcrux.

"Did you see him?" she asked after a pregnant pause. "Voldemort."

Tom didn't turn back to her, although she wished she could see his expression. "Yes."

Danielle didn't expect an explanation, and was not surprised when none followed. "Then do you regret it? Not becoming Voldemort, I mean."

Now this time he did turn back and look at her. His bright blue eyes, the most prominent trait he had passed down to his son, were almost thoughtful as he answered, "No, I do not regret it. If I could be defeated by a child, then I was not powerful in the first place. There are other ways of seeking supremacy, Clara, and I would not be so foolishly hoodwinked again."

"I always thought that because Voldemort made so many Horcruxes, he lost his intellect as well as his humanity," Danielle said. "Dark Magic always leaves its mark, or so everyone always says."

"It does," Tom agreed. He drifted over to her, impassive as ever, and took the locket from her hand, pulling the chain as taut as it would go without taking it off her neck. Danielle wondered if he knew she could easily destroy the Horcrux, that giving it to her must have taken him a surprising amount of trust. She supposed he had known, but then again she could never quite shake off the feeling that she was little more than a pawn in his games.

"You are not a pawn," Tom answered, letting go of the locket, and Danielle stared up at him, startled. She had almost forgotten about his Legilimency. The longer she stayed in the past, the easier it was becoming for him to loosen the block on her mind that had once stopped him from ever discovering her secrets. "If you are to liken our relationship to a board game, Clara, then you must know I would never allow a pawn to become so close."

"Then what am I?" she whispered. Even despite her exhaustion, she still found it in her to wind her legs around his, pulling him back onto the bed. She was trapped underneath him in a second, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers. "The queen?"

He smirked as the bedroom door slammed shut of its own accord. "I suppose you could say that."

Danielle rolled them over on the bed so that she was straddling him, grinning ruefully despite herself at his almost inaudible groan. It was indescribably satisfying whenever she found proof that, underneath the front he had put up for years and even his Horcrux, he was still essentially human, and subject to human needs and desires. "Checkmate," she whispered, and moved to press her mouth to his.

* * *

Sometime in the middle of the night, Danielle woke up to the moonlight shining directly into their room. At first she wondered if she had been woken by Will's cries, but the manor was completely silent, and even Alistair was fast asleep in his cage, his head tucked under his wing. Although she had always kept the window open, Fawkes had never returned to them after they had first brought Will home. It had been over half a year, and she had never seen hide nor hair of the phoenix. Danielle guessed that he had gone back to his master, now that they had no need for him anymore.

"I'm going to find Dumbledore," she whispered after a moment, knowing that Tom was awake. It was the wisest next move. Dumbledore would know what to do about Will and Slytherin.

She hoped.

Danielle expected Tom to object or otherwise forbid her from contacting Dumbledore, but he looked amused instead, as if she was a child making an outrageous statement. "And how exactly are you going to accomplish that?" he asked. "He obviously does not want to be found."

"Georgina knows," Danielle insisted. "She'll tell me—"

"I suppose you shall be as successful in that endeavour as well," Tom said disparagingly. "There is no guarantee Dumbledore will give you the information you need."

"But it's my last hope," Danielle argued, resting her head on his shoulder. "I can't just leave Will unguarded. Slytherin could be after us right now."

"That is unlikely," Tom interrupted. His eyes were glowing peculiarly in the half-light. "He would likely be attempting to create more Horcruxes if he has not already."

"Well, then, that's even worse!" Danielle exclaimed, before remembering Will across the corridor and quickly lowering her voice. "Do you have a better plan?"

"Yes," Tom replied, and Danielle found it was relatively easy now to ignore the arrogance in his tone. "He must be found first. He will not be expecting us to go after him."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Danielle was awoken very early the next morning by Will, and she fell asleep on the floor next to his crib, not having the strength to pick herself up and go back to her own room. Tom had gone to smooth things over at the Ministry, leaving Danielle to fend for herself.

She didn't have a clear plan in mind about how exactly she was supposed to _find_ either Georgina or Dumbledore, but some shrewd part of her brain knew how she could persuade Georgina to tell her Dumbledore's whereabouts. After she'd had a cup of coffee and was marginally more awake, her brain slowly began to put more pieces of the puzzle together until she had a better idea of what she was supposed to do. Tom would surely laugh at her for having such a complicated plan, but what other options were there?

But there was something else, something just as important, that had to be taken care of before she left. Danielle debated for an agonizingly long time over whether Will should be in the room or not, but she finally decided he should stay. It might, after all, be his only chance to meet them.

The previous night, she had taken advantage of Tom's unguarded state and asked him how to remove the Resurrection Stone from the Gaunt family ring. "You're not the only one who can manipulate people," she had breathed, and the ensuing scowl on his face had been something she vowed to remember for the rest of her life. Her lips quirking upward slightly at the memory, Danielle placed Will on the table, casting a charm so he couldn't fall off, and retrieved the ring from her pocket, holding it flat in the palm of her hand. Tom had warned her that there was no guarantee it would work and not to get her hopes up, but of course Danielle hadn't listened to him. She felt suddenly afraid as she contemplated the consequences: what if her family was angry at her? What if they didn't want to speak to her and were upset at being brought back to the mortal world?

The questions had gnawed at her until she hadn't been able to bear it anymore. Besides, she would rather see her family cross at her than not to see them at all. How many people had ever had the opportunity to speak to their loved ones after their death? It would be exactly like looking a gift centaur in the mouth.

"Well, here goes, Will," she said aloud. "D'you think I'll be able to do this?" But her son was too busy trying to break down the invisible barriers to pay her any attention, a concentrated frown on his tiny face as he repeatedly slammed his hands against them, apparently trying to figure out why he couldn't pass through empty air.

Danielle took one last calming breath before closing her eyes and turning the ring over in her hand three times, her heart skipping a beat when she felt something smooth and round fall into her palm. A peculiar shock went through her, and Will let out a surprised cry.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice, and she reached through the barricade to grab him. But he wasn't distressed—just sounding more curious than anything. In a manner that seemed far too advanced for a six-month-old, he caught and held her gaze before reaching out an arm to point across the room, where four flickering figures were clearly visible.

Danielle's breath caught in her throat, and she automatically stepped towards them, her eyes drinking in their faces and saving them to memory: her parents were both dressed casually, in jeans and jumpers, while Andy was in his Hogwarts uniform and William was dressed in the plain black robes she had first seen him in. Danielle shrank back from her family, expecting them to be glaring at her, but they were all beaming, each one looking at her with fondness. They seemed corporeal enough, but not quite solid—something more than ghosts but less than human beings.

Her mother spoke first. "Sweetheart," she began, her voice so comforting that Danielle's throat ached with homesickness. _"Clara._ You have been extraordinarily brave."

"I…I have?" Danielle stuttered. "But I thought you would be angry at me. I abandoned you." She didn't understand the pity in her family's eyes.

"You didn't abandon us," Andy spoke up. "You would have been killed if you had nowhere to go back to. There was nothing you could have done, sis."

"I fell in love with the future Voldemort!" Danielle cried, tightening her grip on Will so that he gave a squeak of discomfort. "I expected you to be furious about that!"

"Is he?" Mr Bailey asked vaguely; Danielle whirled around to her father. "Would you have stayed with him if he was?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I love Tom. I can't stay away from him, no matter what he does. But I can't just stand aside and watch him put innocent people in danger."

"And you have not done that," William said, smiling gently at her. "In fact, you have saved countless lives. You should be proud of yourself, Clara."

Danielle sighed, wanting to put her face in her hands but knowing she couldn't look away from her family for even a second. "That doesn't change the fact he'll still be around when I die. I can't save anyone _then._ "

"Then it is your job to convince him that immortality is not worth the price," Mrs Bailey urged her. "He already knows that death is not the end, but does he truly believe it? You must find a way to make him understand."

"So…do I secretly destroy the Horcrux and pretend that it's intact all along?" Danielle cried. "That's impossible!"

"Not necessarily," said Andy, sounding very unlike the thirteen-year-old she had known. "There are other ways to stop it, and you know exactly what they are. You have the rest of your life to figure it out."

Danielle stared at each member of her family in turn, dismayed. She had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. "Then I guess I'm stuck for now," she said gloomily. "Because I don't know how much longer the rest of my life will even _be._ I need help."

"Then help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who are worthy of it," William said, speaking in riddles as usual. "You were planning to travel there anyway, weren't you? You might just find the answers you need there."

She swallowed hard. "I know. I need to make sure that he's safe before I try anything." She was, of course, speaking of both Tom and Will. Danielle could never get rid of the nagging feeling that Tom's arrogance would one day severely cost him.

"He'll find some way to escape at the last moment," Mrs Bailey said. "He is your son, after all."

Danielle grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Mom," she told her, wanting nothing more than to reach out to all of them and see if she could touch them, or if they would just turn out to be empty air. Were they even any more than just a figment of her imagination? But no, they had to be; Will could see them too. His blue eyes were wide as he stared around at his grandparents and uncles. Danielle stroked his hair comfortingly as she added, "I don't want you to leave me again."

"We never left you," said Andy. "You've never been alone."

Tears welled up in Danielle's eyes, and she searched in vain for a way to tell them just how much each of them meant to her. But their edges were beginning to warp and fade; she scrambled to speak quickly lest they disappear before she had a chance to finish. "Just…don't lose faith in me," she said. "I'll see you all again someday. I promise."

"We'll be waiting," her father vowed. Danielle watched them silently as they disappeared one by one, each smiling lovingly at her.

The Resurrection Stone slipped from her fingers, and she collapsed to the ground with it, Will burying his face in her shoulder as she cried.

* * *

To no one's surprise, Tom found himself invited to have lunch with McLaird as soon as he'd returned to the Ministry. He had politely declined the Minister's offers to speak privately to him for months, although most employees of his position and status would kill to have such an opportunity. But in light of recent events, and because Tom so strongly suspected that McLaird was under the Imperius Curse, he felt that a thorough analysis of the situation was long overdue.

When he was let in to the Minister's office after knocking on the door, Tom found himself seated in a plush chair sitting across from McLaird, who was smiling blandly at him. Tom hadn't touched the platter of lamb stew that sat in front of him, although McLaird had already almost finished his.

"Is there anything in particular you wish to discuss with me, Minister?" he asked him, taking careful note of his dilated pupils and the slightly vacant look to his eyes, both sure signs of the Imperius Curse. If Schefflur had been the one to cast it, Tom realized, it would have been lifted by now, since he was dead. In all likelihood it had been Slytherin, and Tom was fully aware that he could have been playing right into the ancient wizard's hands by accepting this meeting. But he was not so unsure of himself: in the few brief encounters they'd had, Tom had gotten a fairly extensive glimpse into how Slytherin's mind worked. He had, after all, been the Heir of Slytherin and had been the first person in centuries to open the Chamber of Secrets. If anyone had an upper hand in this battle, it was Tom himself.

"Yes, there indeed is," McLaird said with a heavy sigh, pretending to be fixated on his food instead of Tom. "I assume you are wondering why you have been promoted at such a fast rate."

Tom weighed his words carefully before replying, "Yes, _sir,_ I have."

McLaird seemed not to notice the thinly veiled mockery in his tone as he answered, "Not only are you the most reliable and efficient employee I have ever had the pleasure to encounter, you are by far the most intelligent and learned." He leaned forward. "I was wrong about you when we first met, Tom. I would like to offer my apologies."

Tom allowed a smirk to cross his face, knowing McLaird would dismiss it as a genuine smile. Really, the idiocy of the Ministry was pathetic. How in the name of Merlin had they allowed such a bumbling idiot to gain power? Tom despised Dumbledore, but at least he was forced to acknowledge his competence. McLaird didn't even have that in his favour. Even a Muggle would surely be able to do a better job. "That is very intriguing, sir," he said softly. "Considering that you have five men disguised under Disillusionment Charms waiting just outside the entrance to the office. Why the need for increased security?"

McLaird's eyes widened. Tom sat back and waited for the Veritaserum he had slipped into the Minister's drink to take effect.


	39. Contingency Plans

Just before noon, after she had sufficiently recovered from the events of that morning, Danielle pulled on her traveling cloak and grabbed Will, having decided to take him along with her. She knew that she would likely get into very serious trouble if she was caught, but then again she knew she would be in even _more_ trouble if she didn't act soon.

Luckily he had fallen straight asleep after she'd tired him out playing with his favourite toy dragon, and he was napping comfortably in her arms as she walked over to the fireplace, hoping he would be less averse to Floo'ing than he was to Apparating, where he was an absolute nightmare—a trait he had appeared to inherit from her. It had taken Danielle nearly an hour to calm him down when they'd Apparated back from Alyssa and Alphard's the previous day.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder, making sure that none of it landed on Will, before clearing her throat and calling, _"The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade!"_

After the dizzying, seemingly unending length of time—although in reality it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds—while Danielle hurtled through hundreds of fireplaces, she was spat out into the familiar surroundings of the Three Broomsticks. Will had barely been jostled throughout the journey, and to Danielle's relief he was still soundly asleep, although there was a smudge of soot on his cheek and his hair was sticking up in all directions. She brushed the dirt off of them before glancing left and right to make sure nobody had noticed her. Since the term hadn't begun yet, the pub was mercifully empty of students. Aside from an old man seated at the farthest table—the same table that she and Tom had sat at during their supposed "date" in Hogsmeade all those years ago—there was no one in sight.

Danielle fixed her eyes on the door and hurried towards it, longing to get her hands on her wand so she could cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself and escape further notice. She was so close—

"Miss Ashford?"

Silently cursing her luck, Danielle turned to the man at the table, who was, she realized while her stomach plummeted, was Armando Dippet. She wondered if he often went down to the Three Broomsticks during the week. It must be stressful, she thought bitterly, sitting alone in his office while the professors did the _actual_ teaching.

"Good afternoon, sir," Danielle said through gritted teeth. Now she found herself actually _wishing_ for Will to wake up and begin crying so she would have an excuse to leave. But, of course, he stayed fast asleep, twitching slightly as if he was dreaming.

"I never expected to see you at Hogwarts again," Dippet remarked as he walked towards her. What he really meant was that he never expected her to show her face at the castle again, since he himself had a part in sending her to Azkaban. Danielle felt a rush of hatred for the man in front of her whom she had once respected. With his idle prattle, lack of action, and readiness to heap blame on everyone but himself, he was just as bad as Schefflur and Slytherin in his own way. It was people like Dippet, Danielle thought darkly, that one had to watch out for. Not the mustache-twirling, ostentatiously evil villains, but those who preferred to sit back and let others do the work they didn't have the bravery themselves to attempt.

"I never thought I would be back here anytime either," Danielle said as politely as she could. Dippet's watery, bulbous eyes traveled from her face down to Will sleeping in her arms. "He's yours, I expect?" he asked, as if he was little more than a possession.

"Yes," she replied shortly, not disclosing any more information.

"Sleeping, is he?"

"Yes. Babies tend to do that quite a lot," Danielle said coldly. She wasn't in the mood to act civil to Dippet. Sneaking into the castle would give her a satisfactory moment of vindictiveness, childish though it would be.

"I was not aware that you had married Mr Riddle," Dippet continued, staring at the ring on her left hand. This Danielle did not even grace with a response: she simply turned around and left the pub, hoping that her Tom-like smirk didn't outwardly show on her face.

As soon as she was free of him, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and Will before beginning the short walk up to Honeydukes. It was much more obvious here, farther north, that autumn was nearly upon them, and stray leaves blew across the street as Danielle crossed it, wishing she had thought to bring a heavier cloak. She'd forgotten how cold it could become here even in late August.

A few witches and wizards were browsing Honeydukes when Danielle slipped inside, but they weren't even aware of her presence as she made her way to the cellar, where she knew there was a secret passage. She didn't have Andy as an irresponsible, rebellious brother all those years for nothing. Every week he had gotten detention for some prank or sneaking around.

Mentally thanking the Fates for bestowing her with a disobedient younger brother, Danielle moved a stack of unopened Fizzing Whizbees aside to see the trapdoor Andy had once told her about. _"Alohomora,"_ she whispered, and with a burst of blue light the trapdoor swung open, revealing a dark but seemingly unblocked passageway. She carefully lowered herself into it, hearing the thump of footsteps above her as she pulled it shut, briefly closing both of them in darkness before casting _Lumos_ and holding out her wand in front of her.

Unfortunately, Andy had neglected to mention just how _long_ the passageway was, and after forty minutes of ceaseless twisting and turning, as well as Will waking up several times to bawl his eyes out, Danielle was fed up and beginning to regret her decision. Just as she was truly considering just turning back around, the passage began to incline upward, turning into a much narrower tunnel that Danielle smacked her head on in her hurry.

As soon as she emerged out into the third-floor corridor, a wave of nostalgia hit her, and for a split second she wished she was still a student, where her biggest problem would be finishing a Potions essay. But it only took one look at the baby in her arms to realize that she was no longer the Danielle Bailey who had started at Hogwarts, or even the Clara Ashford she'd been when she had first arrived in the past. She felt distanced from Hogwarts in a way she'd never felt before, as if it had happened to her in another life, and the bitterness made a lump in her throat. There was no going back.

After lifting the Disillusionment Charm, Danielle hurried down the corridor, hoping that she wouldn't run into any professors. Surely Dippet wouldn't be back for a while, and the ghosts carried so many secrets within them already that they were unlikely to tell anyone that they had spotted a young woman with a child rushing through the hallways.

Will awoke just as Danielle was climbing the Grand Staircase, his eyes wide as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Unfortunately, he didn't seem at all pleased by them and immediately began to cry, Danielle realizing with no small amount of guilt that he hadn't been fed since that morning. "You'd think that having such a quiet father would mean you take after him," she muttered. Sometimes it was as if Will began fussing or crying just to vex her, although she supposed all new mothers must feel that way. She recalled the image she'd seen in the mirror in the Department of Mysteries of Will as a teenager wearing Ravenclaw robes. He'd had an unusually serious look on his face that was eerily reminiscent of Tom. It appeared that Danielle's hopes of him growing up to be as easygoing and cheerful as the uncles he was named after were dashed before they had even begun.

She had long ago suspected where Tom had hid the diadem and the Invisibility Cloak—it was the most logical explanation, after all, and Tom was nothing if not logical. He liked to pretend he was brilliant with his mind games, but after knowing him for nearly half a decade Danielle was beginning to pick up on some of his tricks. He was brilliant, yes, but even she, a witch of average intelligence, could manage to interpret parts of his thinking process.

When Will had calmed down again and appeared to be content to just observe the new atmosphere, she resumed her journey to Ravenclaw Tower. _If that mirror was anything to be believed, he'll be spending a majority of his time at Hogwarts here,_ Danielle thought dryly as she approached the brass door knocker, which stirred when it sensed her presence.

"Can you create something from nothing?" it asked in cool, neutral tones. Danielle had to take a step back and truly ponder the answer—it had been so long since she'd had to solve a logic puzzle—and her voice was hoarse and cracked from lack of use when she finally replied, "No. In order to create anything, something must go into it. Nothing is the opposite of something—therefore, you cannot create something from nothing."

"Well put," the knocker remarked. "I would have accepted either answer as long as it was explained properly."

"Great," Danielle muttered as the door swung inward. She stepped inside the bright, airy space that had been her home for four years, taking inventory of the huge picture windows, the numerous stuffed blue armchairs, and the bookshelves that lined the walls. The room smelled of pages and parchment and magic. Will was instantly alert, his large eyes scanning the tower and holding a look that was almost akin to wonder.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Danielle asked him happily. She came to a halt in the middle of the room, hoping that the Grey Lady would be in a forthcoming mood. "Er, Helena?" she began. "Are you here?"

And Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor, floated through the wall in front of her and stared coolly at them, her eyes lingering on Will, who was boldly gazing right back as if he knew exactly who she was.

"I see you have produced another one of my descendants," she said, and a tiny smile graced her lips. "I can already tell he is unusually clever for an infant of his age. I would be honoured to have him in my House one day."

"And I'm sure he will be," Danielle answered vaguely. "Listen, I need your help again. I believe that Tom may have hidden your mother's diadem in here, and—"

But she didn't even need to finish her sentence; the darkening of Helena's eyes was answer enough. "Hidden in plain sight," she said ominously, and Danielle turned to the statue of Ravenclaw standing in the corner. The replica of the diadem on her head seemed as untouched as ever, but as Danielle drew closer she could feel its healing magic radiating around the room, as if it beckoned to her and recognized her touch.

"Of course," she whispered, glancing over at Helena. "I'm assuming he used every single defensive spell he could think of on it?"

"An astounding amount," said Helena. "At least he put it back where it rightfully belongs."

Danielle couldn't argue with that. At least she knew where it was if she ever needed to use it again. "I just have one more question. "

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Georgina Taylor around here, by any chance?"

* * *

"You are so lucky, Clara," Myrtle said as she hovered in front of Danielle, watching Will crawl around on the floor. He had fidgeted so much on her walk to the second-floor girls' bathroom that Danielle had gladly put him down as soon as she'd arrived, rubbing her sore arms in relief. "I love babies," the ghost continued wistfully. "Especially Jasper Hornby. He _loved_ me. I was the only one who could get him to stop crying." She gave a watery smile. "He'd be four years old now, you know. Sometimes I wonder how he'd be getting on, but I'm not allowed to see him. I just wish I'd had the chance to have children."

Sensing that Myrtle was preparing to burst into tears, Danielle hurriedly interjected, "I need your help. I want to talk to Georgina. The Grey Lady told me that you would know where she is."

"Yes, she often comes round here, which is more than I can say for _you._ What do you want to talk to her about?" Myrtle asked, staring over the tops of her round glasses at her.

"Something important," Danielle replied. "You'll hear what it is if you can find her."

She hated manipulating Myrtle like this, but she was fast growing desperate and this was the only chance she had. After a wail of anguish, the ghost fled through the window, leaving Danielle alone once again.

She had been worried that Georgina had left the country or had otherwise hidden herself, so knowing that it would be possible to speak to her was an enormous help. Danielle regretted that she hadn't seen Georgina in months, but it had been so difficult to keep contact with a ghost, plus Tom's repelling charms, that she'd barely spoken to her friend since she had first seen her at the manor. And Georgina had a piece of information that Danielle desperately wanted.

In fact, Danielle strongly suspected that Georgina knew her better than she knew herself. So when she and Myrtle returned ten minutes later, Georgina's arms were crossed over her chest as she floated upside-down, not looking at all impressed with Danielle, although she did smile at Will. "Yes?"

Danielle struggled with the most delicate way of phrasing her question for a moment, until she finally gave up and admitted, "I need your help with something."

Georgina sighed. "Let me guess: you want to know where Dumbledore is, so you're going to try to bribe me with giving you his location by telling me that Riddle can help me 'move on'. Did I miss anything?"

"Nope, you pretty much covered it all," Danielle said, trying to hide her shock.

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Well, it's working. Don't think I'm betraying Dumbledore, though—I swore I wouldn't tell, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he knew it was," here she made sarcastic finger quotes, _"Very important."_

"Georgina…"

The ghost finally righted herself, now looking very cross indeed. "Fine," she pouted. "I spoke to him in Estonia, but he said that I could always contact him through the Room of Requirement if need be. Never mind that I have no idea where that even _is—"_

But she wasn't able to finish her sentence, because Danielle had already raced out the door, pausing only to thank Myrtle and throw over her shoulder that Tom would get back to Georgina soon.

* * *

_I need to find the place where Tom has hidden the Invisibility Cloak,_ Danielle thought urgently, pacing in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. But the door didn't appear, although she had tried every variation of the sentence she possibly could.

Her frustration quickly turned to fear, though, when she heard the booming voice of the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Kettleburn, just around the corner. _I need somewhere to hide,_ Danielle thought desperately, and her heart leapt when the brick melted away to reveal a familiar, intricately carved door. Danielle wrenched it open and jumped inside just as Kettleburn came into view. She kept her eye to the crack, waiting until he had disappeared before turning to the room at large. It was, she thought with surprise, Tom's room, complete with the fireplace, desk covered with papers, and even the same bed. Blushing slightly and trying not to think about the memory of what they had done on that very bed as she put Will down, Danielle turned to the desk, where a folded-up piece of parchment that certainly hadn't been there before lay, tied with a thin red ribbon. She hesitantly picked it up and unfurled it, watching in wonder as it transfigured at her very touch to something smooth and soft—the Invisibility Cloak. Of course—Tom had chosen to hide the Cloak in the very room that only him and Danielle could access. It was, she had to admit, bloody clever.

A noise from the fireplace caught her attention, and she folded up the Cloak to see that Will was trying to pull one of the logs out of the hearth, scraping his hands in the process. Danielle grabbed her son at once, gently scolding him before placing him onto the bed and kneeling down in front of the fireplace herself while he leaned over her, his hands now playing with her hair.

There was something different about it—a subtle difference, yes, but Danielle swore it had changed all the same. After closer inspection, she realized that there was a strange engraving carved into the back of it, in an alphabet she'd never seen before. She suddenly wished she'd taken Ancient Runes.

Danielle reached out and brushed her fingers across the markings, wondering what it meant. It was just like Tom to write some message to her in a long-dead language that she had no hope of ever learning—

The fire suddenly blazed up, purple flames shooting into the room, and Danielle yelped and jumped back. Her hands should have been charred beyond measure, but they were as smooth and untouched as ever. She stared down at her fingers before looking back up at the fire. Instead of giving off heat, the violet flames radiated an unusual coolness. And before her wide eyes, Albus Dumbledore stepped into the room.

Danielle sprang to her feet at once, her mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief. "S—sir!" she gasped. It had been nearly two years since she had seen him, and she was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to hug him. "What are you doing here?"

"You wished to speak to me, Clara," Dumbledore replied, the familiar twinkle alighting in his eyes.

"Are you saying that _you_ put the markings there?" asked Danielle. "H—how?" But it was a useless question: he was _Dumbledore,_ after all.

"Yes," Dumbledore said serenely. "I knew that you would want to speak to me someday, but I wished to be certain that it was in a time of great need. If you were willing to go to such lengths to contact me, then I trusted that it would be of extreme importance."

Danielle permitted herself a moment to calm down before launching into an explanation of what had happened to her in the twenty-one months since she had last seen him, including going to 2011 and Tom's assertion that they had to find Slytherin before he found them.

Dumbledore's mustache twitched at her last, desperate plea for help. "I should think that, after all that life has thrown at you, that you would be able to think of a solution on your own. But first, allow me to congratulate you on the birth of your son."

They both looked over at Will, who was now sitting quietly on the bed, watching them with a confused expression Danielle knew was often on her own face. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm just a bit worried that he's not free of the curse, even though we did use the diadem. He seems to be fine, but…" She trailed off, watching as Dumbledore put a hand on Will's head, the strange humidity in the air plastering the curls to his face.

"No, I should think he is completely cured now," Dumbledore answered after a long moment. He smiled at the boy, who stared up at him with Tom's piercing eyes. "He is very lucky to have you as a mother, Clara."

"And very _un_ lucky to have Tom as a father," Danielle mumbled. "Sir, I don't know what to do with him. According to the map you sent me, Slytherin is in St Petersburg, and I expect that Tom will want to go there next. I don't want to bring Will with us, because it would be far too risky, but I don't know who to leave him with, either."

"Have you thought of Vauxhall Orphanage?" asked Dumbledore, the twinkle in his eye dimming. "I am sure that Ellen would not mind you bringing Will there for however long you require."

"I can't give him to the orphanage!" Danielle burst out. "I just can't. Tom hated the place. I don't want him growing up in somewhere like that if…" _If we both die._

Dumbledore didn't respond for a long moment, while Danielle stared at him in anguish. "If I were to find a safe place for him, I would not be able to help you and Tom," he finally said. "Salazar still believes that I am dead. It would be something you must do on your own."

Danielle nodded frantically. "That's fine. I don't care," she said rashly. "Just…just find some way to keep Will safe. _Please."_

The Transfiguration professor abruptly turned away from her, sweeping across the room to the desk, where he examined the Invisibility Cloak closely. "If you forget everything else I have told you, remember this," he began, while Danielle gazed at him in bewilderment. "Schefflur wanted possession of the Hallows so he could see his wife again," Dumbledore explained, a pitying look in his eyes. "He killed her in a fit of rage, and spent the rest of his days regretting it. Salazar is likely the same way. Never underestimate the power of remorse, Clara."

* * *

Danielle's arms felt uncomfortably empty as she made her way through the secret passageway back up to Hogsmeade, her heart aching even more with each step she took farther away from Will. Although she knew she could trust Dumbledore with her life, she hated leaving her son. All she seemed to do with him was leave him in the care of someone else. Even though it was for his own protection, Danielle couldn't help but feel like a failure.

But he was safe, and that was all that mattered, she told herself firmly as she emerged back into the cellar of Honeydukes, casting the Disillusionment Charm back over herself. She hadn't asked for anything else.

Still deep in her melancholy thoughts, Danielle barely registered leaving the store or that a silver Patronus was soaring towards her, despite the fact that she was disguised. She stopped dead in the middle of High Street, blinking in astonishment as the silver hawk announced in Alphard's voice,

" _Clara!_

_Lyssa has had the babies. We would have called you, but we barely got to St Mungo's before they were born. She insists that since she carried and gave birth to them, she should get the opportunity to name them, and sadly I cannot argue with that. Cepheus is four minutes older than Eridanus, and luckily they were born just in time so they'll be in the same year as Will and Pippa. They both have my brown hair and brown eyes. The Healer said that he's never seen babies who look more like their father. Anyway, Dylan and Felicity are heading back to London right away. Please visit as soon as you can—our room number is 342!"_

The Patronus faded in front of her as Danielle felt herself finally crack a smile. She was relieved beyond belief that Alyssa didn't seem to be holding a grudge against her, despite her words the previous day. Making a hasty vow that she would someday tell her friends everything, Danielle continued to the Three Broomsticks with renewed vigor, already envisioning Alyssa's triumph at her victory. The memory of Cepheus as she had briefly known him, a white-haired, hunchbacked ninety-year-old man, flashed into her mind, but she pushed it back, thinking only of the future of this timeline, and not the horrific dystopia that he would hopefully never have to live in.

But she had barely appeared in the waiting-room of St Mungo's when another message reached her: this one of a paper aeroplane that she recognized as the interdepartmental memos that were a common sight at the Ministry. Danielle hesitantly unfolded it, recognizing Tom's ornate script right away.

_Meet me in the Ministry Atrium at once._

_TR_

She read the note twice, torn between going to see Alyssa and Alphard or taking heed of Tom's note. He generally didn't send her messages unless something very important had happened, but she wanted to see her friends and the newborn twins. Besides, she could check up on Minnie now that she was at the hospital…

"Clara!" Alphard's voice broke her out of her reverie for a second time that day, only now he was actually present. He waved jovially at her, a bouquet of flowers tucked under his arm. "Have you come to visit? Lyssa's sleeping at the moment, but I could always wake her…"

Danielle saw her chance, and she leapt on it. "Actually, d'you mind if I come back in a couple of hours? I, er, need to find Lyssa a present."

"Of course," Alphard agreed, and she gave him a congratulatory hug before sprinting out of the hospital, emerging onto the bustling London street and heading for an alleyway she could Apparate to the Ministry in.

* * *

She had just reappeared in front of the telephone box when she heard her name being called once again. This time she recognized the voice of being that as Ria, another Unspeakable and a girl she had worked with briefly in the Time Room. "Hi, Ria," she said, wondering why the other girl looked so excited, brown eyes wide. "Did something happen?"

"Haven't you heard?" Ria asked. "He's your husband, after all."

Danielle frowned. "Heard what?"

"McLaird just resigned. Tom is the new Minister for Magic."


	40. Confronting the Truth

Danielle stared at her colleague blankly. "Minister for Magic?" she asked weakly. "But how—how is that possible? He doesn't even have tenure—"

Ria shrugged. "I have no idea. But you might want to get inside before the _Daily Prophet_ finds you."

"Merlin," Danielle breathed; she hadn't thought of that. What if the journalists pried into her identity and came up with nothing? What if they pried into _Tom's_ early life and obtained reports from the orphanage about how he had behaved as a child?

Panic flared up inside her; after bidding a hasty goodbye to Ria, she raced inside the Ministry, darting around the gold fountain and past the rows of fireplaces, all the way to the lifts where Tom was standing with a group of elderly wizards who were all hanging on to his every word. He appeared to be scanning the Atrium, his eyes landing on her with an expectant coolness. "Clara," he said, and stepped towards her. Ordering the other wizards to leave, they all inclined their heads and drifted away. Tom immediately grabbed her and pulled her into the nearest lift, where she immediately began firing questions at him. "How did you become Minister? Where's McLaird? What about—"

"McLaird is now under my control," Tom said shortly. The lift doors clanged open and Danielle jumped out, trying to block his path.

"But I thought—" she began, and Tom easily passed her, striding into the nearest room and waiting for her to follow. As soon as she stepped inside the door shut of its own accord; they appeared to be in a nondescript, abandoned office—the desk was far too clean and the window was tightly closed, giving the air a musty scent. "I thought you wanted to be inconspicuous."

"I do," Tom agreed, leaning against the side of the desk and folding his arms. "It is merely a game of power. Now that I have upset the balance, Slytherin knows I have the advantage."

"So you…you Imperiused McLaird and made him announce that you were the next Minister?" Danielle put a hand to her forehead. "What are you going to do next, enslave all Muggles and Muggle-borns? This is the perfect opportunity, you know."

Her sarcasm was not appreciated by Tom, who gave her a withering look. "I do not wish to stay Minister," he said. "The benefits are pronounced, but it is far too conspicuous."

"So why did you—"

"Being in a position of power will be greatly advantageous to locating Slytherin," Tom answered. "In fact, we are to leave for St Petersburg tomorrow morning. I have already arranged for a guide to assist in navigating the terrain, as I am told that Slytherin is hiding in a cave near known giant territory."

Danielle frowned. "What story has the Ministry been told?"

"That Slytherin is actually impersonating Holstone." Tom smirked. "It is not too far from the truth. He was extracted from the Department of Mysteries earlier today. A Memory Charm was all that was needed to get him to comply."

"Poor bloke," Danielle muttered; she was relieved that the real Holstone had finally been freed and hoped that he would escape England to a place where Slytherin wouldn't be able to find him. "You said we're leaving tomorrow, then?"

Tom nodded. "I wish to get everything taken of as soon as possible, while Slytherin still expects us to be idle. I shall resign as soon as we return back to Britain." His eyebrows drew together slightly at Danielle's slight smile, as if not expecting her to be so pleased.

"I see," she said slyly. "Are you going to give up that easily? Just— _poof_ —resign instantly? I know you, Tom, and I know that you're not suddenly going to give it up. You're going to try to reform the Ministry as much as you could so that it fits more into your vision of—"

"Thank you for your input, Clara," Tom drawled. "Are you coming or not?"

"D'you mean you actually _want_ me to go with you?" Danielle asked, mock-surprised. "What happened to all those years of trying to force me to stay behind?"

Tom sighed heavily. "You force your way into any situation, whether invited or not. It is a waste of time and effort to try to prevent you from going anywhere."

Danielle's momentary thrill of vindictiveness was cut short by the thought of her son, and her heart dropped again like a stone. "Good thing I brought Will to Dumbledore," she muttered. "I was beginning to worry that he would have to come with us. Slytherin would kill him instantly." She shivered.

Tom looked grudgingly impressed. "How did you locate Dumbledore?"

"Well…" Danielle hedged, "I kind of promised Georgina that you would help her move on if she told me where Dumbledore was."

Now irritation flashed across Tom's features. "And you believe that I would agree to that?" It was almost amusing that he was more upset about the fact that Danielle had put words in his mouth rather that she had assumed he would be able to help a ghost move on, something that was thought to be impossible.

"Yes," Danielle said bluntly. "It was the only way I could get her to tell me, and I had to keep Will safe after all." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I wish I didn't have to keep disappearing with him. Merlin, Tom, what if I die out there? What is Dumbledore going to do then? Where will he grow up? I should have asked Lyssa or Dylan—"

"What good would it _possibly_ do to bring him with you? He is another distraction, and a large one at that. He should not be your priority at the moment—"

"Of course he's my priority!" Danielle shouted. "He's my son! I can't…I can't _compartmentalize_ my emotions like you. _I'm_ the one who was pregnant with him. _I'm_ the one who nearly died giving birth. _I'm_ the one who's stayed up all night for the past six months taking care of him. You don't understand what it's like—"

"He is my son as well," Tom said, very quietly. There was some buried emotion in the back of his eyes, but at the moment she really didn't care what it was.

"Then _act like it!"_ Danielle nearly screamed. She was breathing heavily, hands curled into fists, staring up at him. She had the violent urge to slap him across the face again, as she had shortly after she'd learned he'd made the Horcrux, but she knew that exhibiting such behaviour in a public corridor at the Ministry of Magic was not a wise idea.

"If I truly did not care whether he lived or died, I would not have gone to such lengths to retrieve the diadem," Tom said tersely. "I would not have tolerated him staying in the manor for as long as he has, and I _certainly_ would not tolerate him growing up there." Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away,

 _But you're not supposed to just_ tolerate _your child,_ Danielle wanted to hurl after him. _You're supposed to love them._ She stayed quiet, however, as she knew that her words would fall on deaf ears.

Just before he disappeared out the door, Tom flicked his wand and a small glass vial appeared in Danielle's hands, filled with a bright pink liquid. She glanced down at it and then back up at Tom, not trusting herself to speak again just yet lest they erupt into another argument about Will. "Polyjuice Potion," he replied shortly. "You do not want to walk around London looking as you do, or the reporters shall be following you around everywhere." And then he was gone, leaving Danielle to grit her teeth in frustration.

* * *

"They look exactly like you," Dylan said to Alphard, grinning at his twin sister lying in the hospital bed. Alyssa smiled at them weakly, gazing down at the two babies napping at her sides. Cepheus and Eridanus, Danielle thought, were indeed the spitting image of their father, both brown-eyed and brown-haired. It was no stretch of the imagination to think that they would one day grow into the two teenagers she had seen in the mirror at the Department of Mysteries.

As soon as she had gotten the chance, Danielle had raced back to St Mungo's—first to check on Minnie, whose condition was serious but stable—and then to Alyssa's room. Dylan, Felicity and Pippa were already there; thankfully none of them had yet heard about Tom's most recent promotion, if one could call it that. Danielle knew she would be raked over the coals when she saw them next, and she felt a now-familiar jolt of guilt at being so dishonest with them.

Dylan and Alphard were fussing over Alyssa while Felicity played with Pippa on the other side of the room. Danielle absent-mindedly watched her goddaughter for a minute, wondering if now was the best time to tell them. But surely not…she knew she would tell them eventually—perhaps when things were a bit less…precarious? After all, she was leaving for Russia the very next day, and if her friends were going to see her story to the _Daily Prophet,_ like Alyssa had once tried to do, she would rather be in the country when it happened. Then again, maybe it was best not to tell them she was leaving, period…

"Why didn't you bring Will along, Clara?" Alphard asked, turning back from his wife to look quizzically at Danielle.

"Er, Tom's looking after him," Danielle lied, and it was then that she finally blurted out, "Listen, I'm sure you guys know by now that I…I haven't told you the entire truth. There are a lot of things that I've been keeping secret from you for years, and I think it's about time you know who I really am."

The room was silent. Alphard, Alyssa and Dylan all gave each other startled looks, and Felicity ducked her head awkwardly in the corner. "We figured something like this would happen eventually," Dylan admitted. "Not to mention the fact you've always had to go running off somewhere important."

"Yes," Danielle said, uncomfortably aware of all eyes on her. She took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. "It's just that—"

But the door burst open before she could finish her sentence, and Healer Wainscott hurried into the room, stopping short when she saw Danielle. "Ah, good afternoon, Clara!" she exclaimed. "How is your lovely son doing? He'd be six months old now, would he not?"

"Almost seven," Danielle mumbled, turning away; the spell was broken, and now she was only looking for an escape route.

"Have you heard the news?" Wainscott asked the room at large as she walked over to the bed to check on Alyssa and the twins. "I expect you must be thrilled!"

"We are," Danielle said quickly. "And I'll explain _everything_ when I get back. I promise." And before anyone could speak, she fled the room like the coward she knew, deep down, she was.

* * *

The countless defensive charms, wards, and the Unplottable location of the manor was at least advantageous in that members of the press couldn't locate where Tom lived and use that as an excuse to camp outside at all hours. When Danielle Floo'd back inside, the grounds were mercifully empty and the manor silent. She headed upstairs to their bedroom to find Tom already present, sitting at the desk and deciphering what appeared to be a textbook on Ancient Runes; the surface of the table was covered with parchment scribbled with runes and strange symbols. Danielle pulled off her travelling cloak and threw it on the bed before walking over to him. "What are you doing?" she asked carefully, trying to convey that she did not want to continue their row from earlier that day.

"Figuring out a way to, as you say, help the Taylor girl 'move on'," Tom replied curtly, but his tone wasn't cross; it was one of intense concentration.

"But why are you helping her?" Danielle couldn't stop herself from asking. "You don't care about—oh! You're doing this because it benefits you; if she's moved on, then you won't have to deal with her anymore."

"Precisely," Tom said, turning back to his work. Danielle took that as a silent dismissal, and she headed over to the wardrobe, preparing to pack a satchel for their trip, although she knew that the Ministry would likely provide everything they needed. If Slytherin was defeated, she thought, her and Tom—but most importantly Will—would be safe again, hopefully to live their lives in peace.

But even Danielle knew that confronting the enemy wouldn't be that easy.


	41. The Next Great Adventure

The following day dawned bright and sunny, a stark contrast to Danielle's uneasy and apprehensive mood. She awoke even earlier than Tom, waiting by the window for the owl that delivered the _Daily Prophet_ and trying not to think about Will's empty crib. After she had given the delivery owl a handful of Sickles, it gracefully flew off and she threw the newspaper aside, barely getting a glimpse of the headline that boldly proclaimed _McLaird Steps Down; Appoints 20-Year-Old Unknown In His Stead._ She would have bet everything she owned that Invidia Skeeter had been the author.

 _Should I write to Dumbledore?_ Danielle thought as she paced the bedroom anxiously, casting glances at a slumbering Alistair every so often. It was a tempting notion, since at least then she would be reassured that Will was safe, but on the other hand it could turn out to be quite risky to write Dumbledore, especially if Slytherin had some way of intercepting Alistair. Besides, Danielle shouldn't even need to worry, or at least she tried to tell herself that. Her son was in the care of the greatest wizard of all time—how many nervous parents could say _that?_

After she'd gotten herself breakfast and was able to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her mind, she went back upstairs and perched on the edge of the bed, staring down at Tom's sleeping form and debating whether or not to wake him up. It was rare that Danielle awoke before him, and not for the first time, she marveled at how vulnerable he looked while asleep. His eyelids no longer held the tinge of purple they had been while he was afflicted with the curse, and his normally carefully combed hair was mussed and disheveled. He was usually a light sleeper and would often stay awake until all hours of the morning. Danielle guessed that he had been so exhausted lately that the lack of sleep was catching up with him, and decided to allow him peace for another half hour.

But no sooner had she begun to turn away than he opened his eyes as if he had sensed her presence, snapping to attention right away. "What is it, Clara?" Tom asked, going from complete unconsciousness to total alertness in less than a second.

"Nothing," Danielle told him as she fastened her cloak around her shoulders and gathered up her satchel. "I was just amused by the fact that I woke up earlier than you." She pretended to be staring in the mirror when she was really watching him scowl at her. Tom stood up and walked over to her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. His fingers brushed over the fastening on her cloak as he ducked his head and pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

"What are you doing?" Danielle demanded; she tried to step away from him, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her. It might have been a romantic gesture to any other couple, but with Tom, nothing was ever a romantic gesture.

"Ensuring your safety," Tom replied, but his voice was slightly hoarser than normal. "Did you think I was going to let you come along without taking preventative measures?"

"I could always hope," she whispered, reaching up to touch the spot where he'd kissed her. "What did you do? Place a tracking charm on me or something?"

"Precisely," he answered, looking pleased that she had guessed the correct answer, even if it had been intended as sarcasm. "I would have used a slightly less invasive method had the Snidget still been alive."

" _Ophelia,"_ Danielle corrected firmly, "Died to protect me. What's going to happen if I need protection this time?"

Tom's eyes moved from her face down to the Horcrux locket. A surge of warmth rushed through her as soon as his skin touched it, accompanied by a desire to get as close to him as possible. Danielle knew that this probably wasn't an acceptable time to dwell on it, but she couldn't resist the pull of the Horcrux that somehow knew its owner was close—

And he reached down to kiss her for a brief moment, just enough to get her pulse racing and feeling breathless. Danielle threw herself into the kiss wholeheartedly, but the moment she tried to deepen it Tom pulled away, his eyes sparking but a satisfaction on his features.

"Be at the fireplace in ten minutes," he ordered. Danielle called after him, sure that her face was bright red, but he had already disappeared, as he so often did.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood at the crest of a hill that looked down onto a small Albanian wizarding village, located just outside of Tirana. Will slept soundly in his arms, warm and comfortable. Tom and Clara's son, though still an infant, had a cry loud enough to wake the dead. Luckily, with patience and a bit of pleasant humming, he had nodded off just before Dumbledore had Apparated across the continent. While it would have been convenient to stay with him at Hogwarts, it was not practical, as Slytherin had eyes and ears across the country. Dumbledore had made several alternative plans in case something of the sort occurred, and unfortunately, it looked like it already had.

But when he entered the local inn and requested a room, claiming that he was Will's grandfather, a very unexpected thing occurred, something that even the near-omniscient Dumbledore hadn't seen coming. Another white-haired, bearded figure emerged from the shadows, a glass of brandy in his hand, and cleared his throat. Dumbledore slowly turned around, his bushy white eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Hello, Albus," Armando Dippet said.

"Armando," Dumbledore said quietly, fully aware that the barman was listening a little too closely. "Shall we continue this conversation outside?"

"Of course," Dippet agreed, and followed Dumbledore to a small alleyway next to the building, where, carefully concealed under Disillusionment Charms, Dumbledore spoke again, in a light, conversational tone.

"What brings you to Albania?" he asked. "I should have thought you would be back at Hogwarts getting ready for the start of term.

Dippet raised his eyebrows.

"I could ask you the very same question," he replied. "I should have thought _you_ were dead."

There was a long silence between the two men. "Yes," Dumbledore said quietly, as if answering an unspoken question. "I would imagine it is rather difficult to govern Hogwarts when you are under the Imperius Curse."

Dippet's eyes widened and he spluttered, "The—the _Imperius Curse?_ Don't be foolish, Albus, I—"

"Do not lie to me," Dumbledore said firmly, and Dippet again fell mute. "I know that Salazar has you under his control. Now that begs the question: why did he send you after me?"

Dippet relented under the other wizard's Legilimency, the barriers of the curse on his brain beginning to weaken. He reached in his robes and drew out a small black ring, inset with the familiar mark of the Deathly Hallows. "I charmed it away from Miss Ashford when she was busy with the baby."

"I see," Dumbledore answered. He held out his hand, and Dippet dropped the Gaunt ring into it. "So Salazar sent you to give the Resurrection Stone to me. But does he not want the Hallows for himself?" He dove deeper into the Headmaster's mind, searching for any piece of information he could, but Slytherin had not cast the Imperius Curse lightly: there was a block in his mind that even Dumbledore could not pierce. His eyes flickered from Dippet back to the ring. Surely there had to be a way to open it, if Clara had possession of it. Dumbledore was certain that the young witch had spoken to her family as soon as she had come into the possession of the Stone.

As focused as he was on the ring, however, he was not so blinded as to miss Dippet's hand reaching for his wand, and his surface thoughts that were already screaming the Cruciatus Curse at him. Dumbledore's eyebrows drew together slightly; why wouldn't Dippet want to kill him and get him out of the way? Armando had never been one to beat around the bush—unless Slytherin did not want him dead.

But unlike Dippet, however, Dumbledore did not need his wand to cast a curse. Within a second Dippet was pinned up against the wall of the adjoining building, deeply unconscious and his mouth hanging open. Miraculously, Will hadn't stirred once during the entire exchange or the subsequent flashes of light. Dumbledore conjured a bassinette and placed him gently inside, tucking the blanket over him and placing it on the ground, before turning his attention to the ring.

It was, in all honesty, a very selfish and unwise idea. Normally, Dumbledore would have known that it was a trap, and would have been able to see it right away. But he refused to heed the warning signs in his eagerness and desperation to see his family again, not considering the fact that Dippet had placed a deadly and fast-acting curse on it after he'd stolen it from Clara.

As soon as he murmured the first opening spell, believing it to be the most likely option, he was thrown back, slamming into the hard stone next to Dippet and sliding to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. The ring slipped out of his fingers, and a black ooze began to seep out of his skin, leaving only numbness behind.

Dumbledore gave a soft sigh as he realized what had happened to him. "Ah," he said to himself. "Of course. I have…been foolish."

It was a very ancient and deadly sort of magic that Dippet had placed on the ring, something that Slytherin himself had most likely forced him to use. It was also, unfortunately, a magic that Dumbledore had no power against. Dippet hadn't intended to kill him, because Slytherin had devised a much crueler method of dying.

What he hadn't bargained on, though, was Dippet's current state. As soon as Dumbledore wheezed out his last breath, Dippet would take the Stone back to Slytherin. The ancient wizard had known why Dumbledore had wanted the Stone, known that he would be tempted by it. Even Albus Dumbledore was privy to human weaknesses, and wanting to speak to deceased loved ones was certainly such a flaw, at least in Slytherin's eyes. Perhaps, in a century long past, Salazar would have understood the desire, but whatever humanity he once possessed was long burned out by time and the slow erosion of his soul.

As Dumbledore lay on the ground in the alley, struggling for breath as the black mist slowly began to eat away at his body, a bright crimson shape dove from the sky, landing on the cobblestones. But even phoenix tears could not cure his master, and Fawkes began to sing his song of mourning, the piercing cry audible to the surrounding witches and wizards.

Fawkes understood what Dumbledore wanted without being told, and in a flurry of wings and incredible strength he managed to lift up both Dumbledore and Will's bassinette, carrying the two of them off into the sky over Tirana as he had once done with Clara, leaving a slumbering Dippet to the mercy of the townspeople.

Dumbledore had chosen his location well; it was barely a ten-minute flight to the Druri Inn, and Fawkes placed them softly down on the doorstep outside of the inn, watching from a neighbouring roof as Dumbledore gripped onto the doorknob as he stood up, knowing that he did not have much time. He had accepted his impending death many years beforehand, and if it was for the greater good, as he knew it was, he would certainly not object to it.

The front door swung open before he could knock, Kaltrina staring suspiciously out at him. Like Dumbledore, it was obvious she did not have much time left either, although her remaining days would likely be measured in months rather than hours.

"Dearest Kaltrina," Dumbledore greeted her in a strained voice, and even the old woman could see he was fast weakening. "I have a rather large favour to ask of you."

* * *

Danielle fidgeted nervously in front of the Minister's—Tom's—desk, watching him pace around the office. They had managed to avoid a crowd of reporters waiting for them in the Atrium, and were now just waiting for their guide to escort them to St Petersburg—or at least that was Danielle's impression of the entire situation. She was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole mission, and almost wished she could tell Tom she wanted to go back home. But no, she thought as she lifted up her chin in determination, she'd vowed to stay with him, whatever happened. She liked to think that Tom needed her just as much as she needed him.

The door banged open behind her, causing Danielle to snap out of her musings, and she whirled around as a young girl walked inside, dressed in a long black cloak. At first Danielle wondered if she was seeing correctly; the newcomer couldn't have been more than twelve years old, with long, waist-length blonde hair and calculating brown eyes.

Tom had turned at the sound as well, but his expression was slightly more disdainful as he asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Eleanor," the girl replied in a thick Russian accent. "But you may call me Nora."

"You have not answered the question," Tom said coldly. Danielle shot him a warning look, but he ignored it.

Nora, however, didn't look intimidated in the least. "I am to be your guide," she told them, looking as displeased about this prospect as Tom did. "Now, are you prepared? You are only permitted in the country for twenty-four hours."

"I fail to see how you are qualified to guide us anywhere," Tom said. "Surely you ought to be in school."

"And I fail to see how _you_ are qualified to become the head of one of the world's most powerful nations," Nora shot back. "You also look as though you should be in school."

Tom clenched his jaw and Danielle hid her grin; she liked the girl already. "We are ready to leave," she said to Nora, stepping forward.

"I should hope so," Nora replied. "I have only been in London for an hour and I already despise it. The British wizarding community is very different from that of my country."

"I can imagine," Danielle mumbled, unsure how she should go about making small talk. "Do you want to use the fireplace here or Apparate?"

"Neither will be necessary," said Nora. She pulled out her wand, crafted from a strange, foreign wood, and drew a rectangle in the air. Danielle watched in amazement as a flickering but solid doorway appeared in front of them, through which she could see the interior of another official office, this one even grander and covered with a plush, royal-blue carpet and mahogany furniture.

"The British have not yet figured out transportation magic like this," Nora said, with a hint of smugness to her tone. "Follow me." Without another word, she stepped through the arch and disappeared, the air melding around her small form.

Danielle made after her, but Tom seized her by the wrist, dragging her back. "This is ridiculous, Clara," he said, his voice muted but his expression furious. "We cannot trust her."

"You mean _you_ can't trust her," Danielle corrected. "Perhaps this will be a good lesson in not underestimating other people." And with that, she jumped through the entrance and left him behind.

Her stomach gave an odd flip, as if the ground had been pulled out from under her feet, and she fell sideways, whirling in a dark void for a split second before she was spat out on the other side, landing unsteadily in the luxurious office she had only caught of a glimpse of. It was much more stunning in person, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of a beautiful city, the buildings, streets and canals reminding Danielle of paintings she had seen of Venice. Whereas it had been morning in England, here the sun was beginning to set, casting brilliantly coloured rays of light into the room and illuminating the skyline of St Petersburg.

Nora was leaning on a large, imposing desk, evidently the centrepiece of the office, behind which a middle-aged, thin man sat with his hands clasped in front of him. He was surveying Danielle critically, as if she was merely a bug that he had found on the window, but before she could speak Tom appeared beside her, the strange doorway melting away into nothingness.

"You are Tom Riddle, yes?" the man asked. Tom nodded once; neither of them made any move to greet each other.

"I asked to be taken to a specific location," he said. "Not an office in the middle of the city."

"You have much to learn about the rules of power, young man," was the reply. "I am Nikolai Oblonsky, the Russian Minister for Magic. And I request that any visitors see me before they go on a wild goose chase in my country. It is merely good manners, is it not?"

Tom was outwardly glaring at him now. "And what about the girl?" he asked. "She is too young to be a proper guide and will not be of any use."

Oblonsky steepled his fingers together. "Darya works for me. Unlike Britain's habit of leaving their disadvantaged youth in Muggle institutions, we take in magical orphans who have no other place to go and train them to serve our country from a young age. Her parents were killed and so she was put into the care of the government. She is one of our most valuable and skilled assassins."

"Darya?" Danielle asked despite herself.

"Neither Eleanor nor Darya is my real name. I have many names, Tom Riddle, much like yourself." Nora was answering her question, but looking at Tom. "Now, is this the place you wish to visit?" Again she drew the rectangle in the air with her wand, looking very pleased with herself as if she already knew the answer. Danielle saw a flash of snow-capped mountains, the entrance to a cave…

Tom nodded, his face smooth and blank. "So I presume that we can leave now?"

Oblonsky surveyed him for a long moment, his face equally emotionless. "I suppose so. A word before you leave, Darya?" He pushed his chair back and stood up, beckoning Nora over to him with a crook of his fingers. The younger girl obediently followed him, a curtain of hair hiding her face as they walked into the corridor, the door closing smartly behind Oblonsky.

Tom was at the entrance right away, kneeling down and pressing the tip of his wand to the oak. Danielle hesitantly crept over to him but was unable to discern anything out of the stream of Russian; Oblonsky sounded as if he was lecturing Nora.

"He is telling her to be careful," Tom murmured in Danielle's ear. "He does not have faith in her either. He believes that she is too impulsive."

"Then why did the Ministry send her?" Danielle hissed back.

"Perhaps she was the only one available," Tom replied, although the set of his jaw suggested that someone, somewhere, would be sacked very shortly.

When Oblonsky and Nora stepped back inside, she walked over to the archway and pirouetted back around to face them, her face just as blank as Tom's. Whereas Tom had taught himself how to perfect a detached expression, Nora's had been instilled into her, worn no doubt by years of brutal training. "Inform the British Ministry that the three of them have left with me," she said without looking at Oblonsky.

"You mean the two of us," Danielle answered, and a smirk crossed Nora's face.

"If you say so," she said, and before Danielle could ask what she possibly meant, she was gone in a whirl of ice and snow.

* * *

Fawkes stayed on the roof of the Druri Inn the entire day, his cries so heartwrenching that Brahim eventually had to cast a Silencing Charm on him in fear their Muggle neighbours would investigate. He knew that his master was dying, and he could do nothing but mourn him, singing his lament.

While Kaltrina sat in the sitting-room with Will and four-year-old Luana, happy to distract herself with a new arrival, Dumbledore was lying in one of the bedrooms, unable to move. He had to admit that he had never envisioned his death to be like this—it was rather time-consuming and painful, to say the least. But he had tied up all the loose ends before it happened; now, at least, he knew he would rest peacefully.

Alone on his deathbed, and in a great deal of pain, Albus Dumbledore slipped his wand inside his robes and closed his eyes so as not to look at the black ooze that had nearly eaten up his skin as well as his internal organs, like a deadly fungus. He took one last deep breath before he finally died, his hat still slightly crooked and a tiny, pleased smile on his face. Death was, after all, the next great adventure.

At that precise moment, Fawkes spread his wings and swooped down from the roof, circling around the inn once before soaring up into the endless sky, a free bird once again.


	42. The Last Enemy

The mountain range loomed up in front of them, imposing and forbidding. It was freezing cold here, and bits of ice and snow flew into Danielle's face as she hurried after Tom and Nora, her feet digging into the piles of the snow and making her slip. She had cast a Warming Charm on herself as soon as she had appeared in the glacial environment, but even magic couldn't warm up the omnipresent chill of this place.

She supposed it was beautiful if viewed from a safe distance: the snow was almost completely melted in some parts, and brave flowers and plants poked up from the frozen grass, while the sky was a bright, almost summery blue, but the key word was _distance._ They had only been walking for ten minutes, and Danielle was already so cold she could barely feel her extremities anymore.

Nora led the way, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She'd explained that it was full of gifts and treasures for the giants in case they needed to appease them. Danielle hardly felt better about this fact—she'd never seen a giant before, thank Merlin, but from what she'd read about them she guessed that they would need hundreds of satchels to persuade them not to attack. Would Tom's magic even be able to help them if they did decide to investigate? Danielle sincerely hoped so.

Squinting against the blowing snow that was making it difficult to keep a steady pace, she glared at her husband several feet ahead of her, jealous of his ability to completely and utterly block out any outside factors that deterred him from his goals. No matter whether it was hunger, cold, or exhaustion, Tom had a remarkable ability to push those things aside and concentrate on one objective. Danielle idly wondered if it was some sort of genetic anomaly and Will would turn out to be the same way, or if it was a peculiarity restricted only to Tom.

Lost in her distractive thoughts, Danielle barely realized that Nora had skirted around a wide patch of ice and she, not having noticed, was stepping directly into it. Her feet immediately slipped out from under her, and she cartwheeled comically in midair for a moment before landing flat on her stomach, biting her lip to keep from crying out at the pain that shot through her entire body. She was reminded of the time when she'd tripped and fallen while running from Bellatrix Lestrange. Luckily, she was awarded slightly more freedom this time—but Danielle still twisted around to make sure she wasn't being pursued, just in case.

A gloved hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, impatiently brushing the snow from her face. Embarrassed, Danielle saw that Tom had doubled back to assist her while Nora had paused up ahead, a look of concern on her face. "Are you all right?" she called, her stony expression melting away for a brief moment.

"Yes," Danielle mumbled, murmuring a quick thanks to Tom before trudging forward, her face bright red and her pride shattered. He kept a tight grasp on her after that, making Danielle feel like a misbehaving child. At least, she thought grudgingly, she didn't need to worry about keeping up anymore.

"Is this the place where the map showed Slytherin?" she whispered to Tom when Nora was out of earshot.

He nodded but didn't elaborate, his jaw set and his face blank. Danielle glanced away from him, past Nora and up to the top of the mountain where she assumed they were headed. Slytherin could be metres away from them right now, oblivious to their presence and convinced he was safe. It had only been a few days since their return from 2011, but that was more than enough time for him to have created more Horcruxes. If Dumbledore had been telling the truth—and Danielle wanted to believe that he was—he'd destroyed Slytherin's previous Horcruxes, making the wizard merely mortal again. Since he was at least a thousand years old and his soul was so fragile, it would be challenging, if not impossible, for him to create new ones. But Danielle wasn't going to underestimate him again this time. For all she knew, he could have _hundreds_ of Horcruxes they didn't know about.

In any case, if things went their way, within an hour everything would be resolved—for better or for worse. Danielle ducked her head against a sudden, biting wind and peered through watering eyes at Nora, who had stopped ahead of them and was looking impatient. Could they have reached the summit already?

"This is as close as I can get," the young witch told them when they finally caught up with her. "There is an opening in the rock just ahead. You must go on alone; I will stay here and keep an eye out for any trouble."

"You're leaving us?" Danielle asked in a small voice, trying and failing not to betray her dread at what was shortly to come.

Nora nodded. "I must keep a lookout. There have been reports that the giants here have recently killed some Muggles, and as neither of you appear to be very learned about the creatures, I must be the one to take up the task." Both of them looked simultaneously over at Tom, who was inspecting the rock face as if looking for a secret entrance. Rolling her eyes slightly, Nora continued, "Let me get this straight. A criminal from Germany is taking refuge here in Russia and the British Ministry is sending their own Minister to take care of the situation." She shrugged her shoulders in disbelief. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't," Danielle muttered, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her robes and thinking that Nora had no idea how strange the reality actually _was._ Feeling Tom's gaze on her, she noticed that he was staring over at them, one hand placed on the rock, through which she could see a small opening. "I think he's found it," she said to Nora, and, swallowing nervously, made to leave when the other girl grabbed her wrist, holding her back. Danielle looked quizzically at Nora, who appeared younger than ever with apprehension written on her face.

"Be careful, Mrs Riddle," Nora said, her face now serious. "This is unknown territory, even for me. And you already need to look after yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been trained almost from birth how the human body works and how to exploit the weaknesses of my enemies," she explained. "I can tell when someone is ill even before they know. Your husband, for example, was at one point close to death but pulled through."

Danielle, momentarily sidetracked, blinked several times in confusion. "How—how did you know that?" she stammered, eyes widening.

"I told you, I see everything," Nora replied. "You, for example, are far from ill yourself, but I would advise you to be cautious."

There was a long pause, during which Danielle stared at the other girl with her mouth open, trying to discern what she meant. "Clara!" Tom called, breaking the silence, and she had no choice but to mutter a quiet, "I promise I'll be careful, then," and leave her, marveling at how such a young girl could seem so old.

By the time she reached Tom, he was already leaning into the abyss, looking impatient. As soon as Danielle was within reach he grabbed her and cast a Disillusionment Charm over both of them before he knelt down and disappeared inside. Danielle followed him obediently, her last view of the outside world being Nora standing guard against the bright white snow before her vision was plunged into darkness. She barely had time to register that she was falling down through empty air before she hit the ground, Tom breaking most of her fall and holding her upright.

As soon as she regained her balance, Danielle lit her wand and lifted it high above her head, straining to see where they had landed. It appeared to be a cavern of some sort, the ceiling so high that it wasn't even visible. The rock walls were unusually smooth, seeming almost as if they had been carved out of marble. At the far end of the cavern, Danielle could see an object lying on the ground. She hesitated, but Tom had already started towards it, his own wand held aloft.

As Danielle drew closer, she realized that it was an enormous golden goblet, inset with glittering emeralds and sapphires. It was filled to the brim with a sparkling golden liquid and a rich scent wafted from it that reminded Danielle of freshly baked bread and strawberries. In fact, it smelled so decadent that she automatically reached out her hand to grab it—but Tom held her back, his eyes narrowed. "It is a trap," he said tersely, holding it up to the light. The handle was covered with elaborate, intricate symbols that looked vaguely like the runes she had seen Tom drawing the previous night. He murmured something under his breath that sounded like no language she had ever heard.

Danielle frowned. "Could you repeat that in English, please?"

" _I am to be drunk by only the most powerful,"_ Tom translated. There was a hunger deep in his eyes.

"Oh, come on," Danielle scoffed. "Fine, it's definitely a trap."

"But if it was here before Slytherin, he would be likely drawn to it," Tom said. He appeared to cast several non-verbal spells at it, but nothing happened. After a long moment, he answered, "I am to drink from it if we wish to go any further."

"Tom, you're not seriously thinking of drinking it?" Danielle screeched. "You just finished telling me that it was a trap!"

"I see no way around it, Clara," he said levelly. "Besides, even if Slytherin did place it here, I doubt he would want to kill the person that drinks from it. He would wish to question them."

Danielle fidgeted nervously, unsure about her reaction. "Then what d'you want me to do?" she asked. "I have no idea how to heal you and I'm useless if we're suddenly attacked…"

"That is a risk I will have to take," Tom said, and raised the goblet to his lips. Danielle was simultaneously confused and angry at his reaction—this simply wasn't _like_ Tom, to take such a risk when he had no idea of the outcome! She was almost tempted to snatch the goblet from his hands and pour the liquid onto the floor. But the other part of her knew exactly why he was doing it: the markings had intrigued him. He wanted to know exactly what it meant by the inscription, and undoubtedly part of him believed that he was "the most powerful"—therefore, he should be the one to drink from the goblet, not her. When it came to matters of power and worthiness, he could be manipulated, just as Danielle had nearly been manipulated by its rich scent.

Although he appeared to have drunk deeply from it, Danielle couldn't help but notice that it looked just as full when he lowered his hand. She watched him anxiously, searching for any signs of change—and then he fell back sideways against the cavern wall, his face as still and pale as death. Tom's eyes closed, and he collapsed to the floor.

"Tom!" Danielle cried, and dropped to her knees beside him. He was unmoving and lifeless, his pulse beating only faintly in his throat. _"Renervate!"_ she ordered, but he didn't so much as twitch.

As she was scrambling to think of a waking spell, her wand flew out of her hand, and she whirled around to see Salazar Slytherin standing behind her, with a satisfied expression on his face that eerily resembled the one Tom often wore. Danielle quickly grabbed Tom's own wand and straightened up, pointing it at the other wizard.

"It will take more than that to wake him, Miss Bailey," Slytherin said calmly, with no indication that he was going to Disarm her again.

There were a thousand questions she could ask him, a million insults she could hurl at him, but all Danielle said was, "Miss Bailey?"

"That's who you are, is it not?" he asked. Without waiting for her to reply, he continued, "What your dear husband just drank is the Draught of Living Death. I daresay he shall not awake of his own accord."

In a sudden flash of understanding, Danielle knew what his plan was. Slytherin had expected them to go to _him_ all along. It had been a trap. And they had fallen for it.

"What do you want?" she snarled. "Schefflur is dead—"

"And I could not care less," Slytherin said almost musingly, stroking his beard as he took a step toward her. "We were merely using the other. Much like you believe Thomas is using you."

"He's not," Danielle told him, and was inwardly pleased at the conviction she heard in her tone. "And you still haven't told me what you want."

"Oh, it's quite simple. I, as you already know, wish to become master of the Deathly Hallows. I now possess the Elder Wand, but the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility are proving to be frustratingly…elusive. I also understand that you know where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem is."

Was it just her, or was there a peculiar reverence in his tone when he spoke of the woman he had once been in love with? Danielle thought of Dumbledore's warning to her, and of Schefflur's rage when Tom had taunted him about his wife. Perhaps, she thought, there was humanity in even the most inhuman of beings. "I'm not the right person to ask about the diadem," she hissed. "I would suggest that you ask your daughter-in-law instead." She could see rage flash inside Slytherin's eyes, and she was struck by his similarity to Tom. Despite the centuries and centuries that separated them, they were more alike than Danielle would have liked to see. "Does it bother you?" she asked, as she felt a cold rage begin somewhere in the back of her mind, and the side of her that had been placed in his House flared up. "Knowing that Helena could have been _your_ daughter instead of Gryffindor's if you had been good?"

In the way only a relative of Tom's could accomplish—however distant—Slytherin repressed his anger and forced a neutral expression. "Touché, Mrs Riddle. I can see why you were placed in my House, tainted as your blood may be. But the answer is simple: why go to Hogwarts when there is someone who knows the answer right here?"

Danielle's mind and heart were racing. "You know that getting the information from me is easier," she realized. "You knew that Tom would drink the potion."

Slytherin nodded. "And as soon as I kill you he shall reawaken. But do not worry—he will not be alive for much longer than that when I take your son."

"Don't talk about Will," Danielle snapped.

"He is my descendant as well," Slytherin said, his tone as light as if they were merely discussing the weather. "I know he is with Albus Dumbledore—do not deny it!—and by the end of the day, Dumbledore shall be dead…if he is not already."

The Horcrux locket at her throat was beginning to burn. Danielle forced herself not to reach for it, instead gritting her teeth and spitting out, _"Expelliarmus!"_

She expected Slytherin to retaliate, but he just stood quietly as her wand came flying back into her hand. "I can defeat you with or without magic, Clara Riddle," he said. "You may take whatever precautions you wish if it gives you a false sense of hope."

Her heart sinking, Danielle knew he was right. She had no chance whatsoever of beating him—no one could, not even Tom. The locket flared up again, and she allowed it to consume her this time, reaching into its depths and closing her eyes.

She fell onto a cold stone floor, scrambling to her feet right away. She reached for her wand, but the pockets of her robes were empty.

"Clara," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see Tom walking up to her, his expression guarded. There was something different about him, she mused. His face was younger, his cheeks flushed with colour and health. "What are you doing here?"

For the first time, Danielle took a good look at her surroundings. To her shock, she realized they were standing at the base of the Grand Staircase in Hogwarts. But there was a resonance to Tom's voice that was unfamiliar to her, and the portraits on the walls were frozen and unmoving. "Slytherin gave you the Draught of Living Death," she said, drawing her arms around herself. It was colder in here than she remembered, as if they were in a dream castle, a weak replication. Danielle supposed, in a way, they were. "You're half dead yourself."

"Yes," Tom replied. He looked displeased. "I was…foolish."

"Your Horcrux saved you," Danielle continued. She was, finally, astonishingly, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "That's where we are now, aren't we?"

"I suppose." Tom glanced away from her, over the balcony. Danielle half-expected to see a ghost floating through the wall, but everything was silent. She was certain they were in the only beings in the castle.

"Supposedly you see yourself in a place where your life was at a crossroads," she explained. "I appeared in my family's field, which I guess was meant to symbolize my two lives…" She frowned, looking around them. "Maybe Hogwarts is meant to symbolize your life as a wizard and your life in the orphanage?"

"No," Tom said flatly.

"Then why are we here?" Danielle asked, baffled. "What does the Grand Staircase mean to you?"

" _Think,_ Clara," he told her, his jaw clenched. Danielle met his gaze, grey to blue, and a moment of understanding passed between them.

"Oh," she said, fighting to control a smile. "I see. It's where we first met."

Tom didn't answer, and Danielle broke their stare first. She closed her fingers around his wrist, feeling his strong pulse beat into her skin. "It's Slytherin's Horcrux too," she said softly. "It must be destroyed before he dies."

"And I shall be mortal again," Tom answered unemotionally, but it was clear he had come to the same conclusion she had.

"I see no other way around it," Danielle said hurriedly. "If you leave Hogwarts, I suppose you can…move on. But you shouldn't be scared of death, Tom."

He stared at her for a long moment, and she knew he was seriously contemplating giving up his immortality: whether it was because he knew that death was not the end or because it meant he would die with her, she had no idea. "And how is it going to be destroyed?" he asked. Danielle felt a flicker of uneasiness: this was not the Tom she knew. This was only an echo of him. Was this only part of his soul; the part that resided inside the Horcrux?

"The Chamber of Secrets," Danielle said suddenly, forcing herself out of her thoughts. "The basilisk would be there…and there should be leftover venom on its fangs. It's our last chance."

After a long moment, Tom inclined his head in something that could almost be considered a nod and abruptly turned away, starting up the Grand Staircase. Danielle hurried after him, wondering if he was aware of their conversation or if she was really speaking to the broken half of his soul.

It was unimaginably eerie to walk through the ghost Hogwarts; the atmosphere was uneasy, deserted. But Danielle had to remind herself that this was Tom's dream, not hers, and it was suitably fitting for his character. She turned to him walking beside her, almost like a ghost himself, and ventured, "Slytherin said that he knows Dumbledore has Will. I have no idea what he wants to do with him."

Tom looked sideways at her. "He was likely just trying to anger you," he said. "At any rate, he does not wish to kill William."

"But there are things worse than—" Danielle caught sight of Tom's face and stopped herself. Trying to get reassurance from Tom would yield just as many results as asking the basilisk to comfort her.

They didn't speak again until after they had arrived at the second-floor girls' bathroom—with no sight of Myrtle—and entered the Chamber of Secrets. Danielle winced as the floor crunched loudly under her shoes stepping on the animal skeletons.

The basilisk's corpse was lying on the floor precisely where Tom had slain it, its fangs still dripping with venom. "This better work," Danielle said aloud as she approached it, although it was more to herself than to Tom. She reached over to pull a fang out of the serpent's long-dead mouth, the snapping sound echoing throughout the Chamber.

When she straightened up, Tom brushed her hair aside to unclasp the locket from her neck—the first time it had been removed in nearly two years. His fingers lingered on her skin longer than was strictly necessary, and Danielle tried to stop herself from shivering as she took the locket from his cool hand, placing it on the ground in front of her. She took a shaky breath, not daring to look at Tom in case she lost her nerve. In one motion, she raised the basilisk fang and plunged it down, straight into the centre of the locket.

The world exploded around her in a burst of colour and blinding light—she thought she heard Tom yell in pain for the very first time—and suddenly she was thrown back into her own body, still standing in the cavern, at the same time that Tom's eyes flew open and he doubled over, gasping, on the ground. She searched frantically for Slytherin, and saw that he had staggered backwards, a look of horror on his face. Before he could even get one curse out, he had collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Danielle understood on some level that he was dead, but at the moment she was more concerned about Tom, who was bent double, looking as if he was about to vomit. She watched him in horror—she had only given thought to the fact they were defeating Slytherin, not that they were destroying Tom's Horcrux; a piece of his very soul.

Danielle dropped down next to him, wanting to touch him but unsure if she should. "We did it, Tom," she said, breathless and glancing back at Slytherin's body. "He's dead. Will is safe— _we're_ safe."

Tom rested his head against the cavern wall, showing an uncharacteristic weakness. Danielle threaded her fingers through his, and he breathed something that sounded like her name. After another moment, his eyes opened and fixed on her, moving from her face to Slytherin. "He's dead," Danielle repeated. She couldn't quite believe it—after Grindelwald, after Erik, after Schefflur and Slytherin, they had no more threats to worry about, and they could live in peace.

A shadow blocked out the light still dimly shining from the opening high above them, and Danielle's hand reached for her wand, but luckily she heard Nora's voice calling down to them, "What the hell have you _done?_ It's woken up the giants! Stay—"

But her words were drowned out as a huge rumble shook the earth, rocks falling from the ceiling, and Danielle automatically ducked. Tom finally grabbed his wand and cast a Shield Charm around them. They were protected for the moment, but there was no way of guaranteeing the same safety for Nora. In a momentary lapse of judgment, Danielle lunged forward away from Tom, hearing him shout angrily at her, and seized Slytherin's body, sticking her hand into his robes and triumphantly snatching up the wand stowed in them. It was much longer than Danielle's own wand, and her fingers traced the markings on it, feeling the centuries of sheer _magic_ it contained and gathering them up inside her, as if she was a vessel for the ancient magic, and shouted, _"Reducto!",_ ducking back into the Shield Charm just as a burst of white-hot energy coursed through her, sending a shockwave of magic throughout the cavern and resounding down the mountain itself, overriding the giants. There was a deafening crack as the cavern split right down the middle, bringing in a gust of freezing air with it—and Danielle saw, dimly, at least ten giants stop in their tracks and begin to retreat, brandishing their clubs and stomping away as a great avalanche tore down the path towards them. Danielle's vision momentarily turned white as a bucket of snow poured down onto her and Tom, settling into their hair and robes; he had lifted the Shield Charm. His look at her then was one of mingled shock and awe; in a way it was as if he was _truly_ seeing her—not as an exact equal, but someone who was a powerful witch in her own right. To him she had always been his Clara, and now he was seeing a side of her that had perhaps been unknown to him until then.

"Well," said Danielle as he reached out to her, rubbing his thumb against a cut on her forehead where one of the rocks had caught her. "That was certainly…unexpected." There was suppressed laughter in her voice.

Tom sounded slightly taken aback as he asked, "Is that the Elder Wand?"

"Yes," Danielle said. "I Disarmed Slytherin and therefore gained possession of the wand. I am the master of the Hallows."

"But that is impossible." Tom was still looking at her as if she had suddenly changed form; as if she was someone else entirely. Danielle narrowed her eyes at him, willing him to listen.

"No, it's not," she said fiercely, catching his gaze and holding it stubbornly. "Don't you understand? Being master of Death doesn't mean becoming immortal. It means accepting death and knowing it is not the end. It's symbolic more than anything. Surely you figured that out, Tom, even before I did."

His eyes flickered past her, and she saw something dark cross his features. "Clara," he said, almost hesitantly. The laughter dying on her lips, Danielle followed his gaze to a figure lying in the snow, crimson blood pooling around her head. "Nora," Danielle breathed, and she leapt up, grabbing a foothold in the broken rock and pulling herself back up to where the girl was lying, her eyes-half closed. Danielle grabbed the Elder Wand, but it was too late—Nora rasped, "Tell Papa I love him," and went still, staring blankly up at the sky.

Danielle let out a choked sob as she stared at their guide; the girl who wasn't even a teenager yet had showed extraordinary fierceness and strength, who had been trampled by the giants. "Who's Papa?" she whispered, tearing her eyes away from Nora and looking at Tom.

"Oblonsky, most likely," he said tersely, and leaning over to close her eyelids. "It is…a shame."

Danielle was sure the words "she could have been useful" were silently added at the end of the sentence, but she was grateful to him for having the tact not to voice it out loud. "I'm sorry," she whispered in the girl's ear, all the delight at defeating Slytherin vanishing.

Tom conjured a stretcher, and they began the long trek back down the mountain path. Danielle leaned heavily against him and tried not to cry, aware of their victory but unable to take any joy from it.


	43. Sui Generis

Danielle stared down at the body lying in the coffin, blinking back tears and wishing that she could speak to Dumbledore one last time, to tell him how grateful she was to him and how much he meant to her. He had sacrificed so much to keep her safe and invested so much of his time into helping her. And now he was well and truly dead. There was no trickery this time—the Ministry had made sure of that. She had already grieved for him once, but the pain was no less sharp this time, and she couldn't look at Dumbledore for very long before she turned back around, casting her gaze out over the graveyard of Godric's Hollow, his final resting place next to the graves of his family.

This was her second funeral in as many days—while Tom had gone back to London to oversee the Ministry (and subsequently earned himself an Order of Merlin, First Class, for killing a 'very dangerous' criminal—which was, ironically, true in a way since he technically _had_ killed Schefflur) Danielle had stayed behind in Russia for another night to attend Nora's funeral before Floo'ing back to the manor, where she'd found, to her utter shock, Kaltrina, Brahim, and Will waiting for her. Shortly before his death, they explained, Dumbledore had traveled to Albania and left Will in their care. Danielle was both grateful and surprised that they'd agreed to help, especially since they had parted years ago on such uncertain terms, but it appeared that they had been prepared to look after Will for a short period of time as long as they didn't have to see Tom in the process. "We can never forgive your husband for what he did to our dear Adelina," Kaltrina told Danielle. "But we would not cast out his son, no matter what his age. I do not believe the sins of a father should be extended to his children."

The elderly couple hadn't stayed for long, and indeed Danielle had no one to formally accompany her to the funeral. She had brought Minnie back home earlier that morning, and while the house-elf was still recovering from Schefflur's vicious attack, Danielle had thought it best to bring Will with her, as grim an occasion as it was. He was sitting quietly in her arms for once, his eyes wide open and seeming content to simply observe. Danielle bounced him slightly, both to try to entertain him and forget about Dumbledore's limp form lying in the coffin. He turned his head towards her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, as if he didn't want to see the body any more than she did.

"Oh, Will," Danielle sighed as she carefully wove her way back through the crowd of mourners dressed in black, towards the entrance of the cemetery. "I wish you could have known him. He was one of the best, if not _the_ , best man I've ever met." _And that includes your father,_ she thought rather bitterly, and her son blinked knowingly up at her as if he understood her omission.

She had nearly reached the designated Apparition checkpoint when there was a light tap on her shoulder and someone gently spun her around. Danielle stared up at the face of her supervisor, Bode, who was wearing a dark suit and smiling sadly. "Good afternoon, Clara," he greeted her. "I am saddened that our reunion had to take place under such circumstances. It is truly a shame what happened with Albus; I greatly trusted and respected him as I am sure you did. He was my professor as well."

"I did too, sir," Danielle told him, although she couldn't fathom why Bode had singled her out to speak to. She had only been working part-time since Will's birth; was it possible that he was going to ask her to begin her usual hours again?

"On a slightly more pleasant note, I _do_ wish to congratulate you on Mr Riddle's recent…promotion, shall we say?" Bode continued, drawing her to the side as a wailing Veela couple walked past them, their flawless features perfectly unmarred by their current disheveled states. Danielle felt a brief stab of jealousy towards them before focusing her attention back to Bode, managing a wry grin.

"Thank you very much, sir," she replied. "But I do not believe he will be remaining Minister for much longer; I was under the impression that it was just a temporary position."

"Oh, is that right?" Bode's eyebrows shot nearly to his hairline and he appeared to compose himself before continuing. "At any rate, it is a very great honour…and I received word that the pair of you are being awarded Orders of Merlin."

Danielle nodded quickly, dropping her voice as the mourners began to file out of the graveyard, and Dumbledore's coffin was closed with a sickening sense of finality. "We are, sir, but I refused mine. I didn't have much to do with it, you see. I would rather the award go to someone more deserving of it." This wasn't strictly true; Danielle simply didn't want the attention that would be paid her if she were to receive such a prestigious honour, since she figured that the _last_ thing she needed was more speculation focusing on her background. She would not, however, decline the offer of appearing on a Chocolate Frog Card should the opportunity ever arise…

"Ah. Well. I suppose that is irrelevant," Bode shifted from side to side, and Danielle didn't miss his longing look towards the food table. "Listen, Clara, in spite of what I may have ever said to you, the fact remains that you are one of my hardest and most efficient workers, and despite your young age I am fully confident in you and am sure that you will go on to achieve greatness during your life. Since there is currently a vacancy in the division due to Tom's… _advancement_ , I can think of no other employee to whom I would rather extend the offer of becoming Head of the Department."

Danielle stared at him in amazement, mouth open like a fish, for at least ten seconds before she stuttered, "Head of the Department of Mysteries? _Me?"_

"Yes, you," Bode replied, now looking quite amused and cheerful at the prospect that the conversation would soon be over with. "However,you still have five months of leave before you need to make a decision, and should you choose to accept it, you do not have to concern yourself with the paperwork it entails straight away—"

"Of _course_ I'll take the job!" Danielle exclaimed, causing Will to jump in alarm, and would have actually hugged Bode if she wasn't holding a baby. "Thank you—thank you so much, sir! That's wonderful, it really is."

Now Bode's face broke into a true smile, and he patted her on the shoulder in a slightly paternal manner. "That's settled, then," he said. "Until February, Clara, enjoy the time with your new family."

"Hang on, sir," Danielle called after him as he made to leave, secretly delighted that she could speak so frankly with him. Bode turned back to her, his eyebrows still raised, and she added, "I do have one condition to that offer."

"Yes?"

She ran her hand over Will's curls, smiling lovingly down at him as she said, "I would like to be able to work from home so I can take care of him—either that or I am allowed to bring him to the Ministry." At Bode's dubious look, she quickly added, "I promise that he won't be a disturbance. He does cry quite often at the moment, but I'm certain that he'll grow out of it very quickly."

Her supervisor stared down at her for a long while, and Danielle's hope, which had flared up in her only a moment before, suddenly sank as she realized he was seriously considering refusing her demand. Surely he could find another witch or wizard who would be just as adept at the job at her, and wouldn't bring their child to the office…But then, again to her astonishment, he nodded. "Yes, I think that can be arranged," he finally said. And then, before she could list any other ridiculous demands, he bid her a good day and hurried off, his expression not quite hiding his bewilderment.

Danielle waited until he was safely out of earshot before letting a wide grin cross her face and she whispered to Will, "We did it!" and, despite the gloomy occasion, nearly skipping out of the graveyard and down the street to the Apparition area, mentally thanking Dumbledore profusely. If it hadn't been for him, his trust and Bode's esteem for him, she was sure he would never have offered her the position.

* * *

"I do not quite understand what you are saying, Mr Riddle," a short, stocky wizard was saying, his pointed hat tilted so far to the side that it was nearly falling off his head. "You wish to _resign_ as Minister for Magic? You were barely appointed a day ago, and you are quickly gaining public favour with your daring capture of Heinrich Schefflur! McLaird himself appointed you—"

"I think," Tom drawled lazily as he turned away from the window and moved towards the wizard, a smirk on his face, "That if you do some investigating, you shall find that it was not technically McLaird who appointed me. He was under the Imperius Curse, and I am certain that he shall fervently confirm it if you were to ask him." Of course McLaird would confirm it, since Tom had cast a powerful Memory Charm on him that would not only erase any evidence that Tom himself had been the perpetrator, but that _Dippet_ had actually done the deed. It would be killing two owls with one curse, he thought with satisfaction.

"McLaird?" the wizard, whose name Tom hadn't bothered to learn, stuttered. "I…can do anything you wish, sir. If you want me to question him—"

"Please do," said Tom evenly. "And I would advise you to find a replacement for me quite quickly, as I do not believe the Ministry can last very long without a leader. I suggest considering Eldritch Diggory, as he appears to be fairly competent, which is regrettably more than I can say for my predecessor." While the other wizard gaped at him, he added, "Good day to you," and turned away, dismissing him silently.

"Of—of course, sir," the other man said, giving him a bow and catching his hat just before it slipped off.

Tom waited until the other man had left the room before his smirk returned in full force. He had never had any aspirations to become Minister—the position was too public, too prominent, for him to truly accomplish anything. No, he had always wanted to work behind the scenes; pulling the strings but being the one who was _truly_ in power.

And he still intended to do just that.

* * *

When Danielle returned to the manor, she put Will to bed and checked on Minnie before opting to grab a book and relax on the balcony, taking her first break in what felt like ages. Her heart was still heavy with the double loss of both Nora and Dumbledore; they had both died for a greater good, but when she was still caught up in the throes of grief it was difficult to fully understand such a concept. Slytherin and Schefflur, their last enemies, had both been killed, and so theoretically Danielle and Tom would be able to live the rest of their lives without any more threats being thrown at them.

 _The rest of their lives…_ Tom was mortal now, wasn't he? Giving up hope of ever cracking open her book, Danielle rested it down on the table and stared out at the grounds instead, the day unusually sunny and warm despite it being the beginning of autumn. He hadn't mentioned the topic of creating another Horcrux, and Danielle was left to wonder if he ever _would,_ or if he was finally beginning to accept the inevitability of death, slim though she knew the chances were of _that_ ever happening. But he knew, at least in part, what death was like after hearing Danielle's tale about meeting William at her family's field, and then again when Slytherin had given him the Draught of Living Death—which she supposed was equivalent to what she had gone through after Skender had attacked her. But that still didn't answer the question she desperately wanted to know: would he try to make another Horcrux? And if so, what object would he use this time?

Closing her eyes against the warm sun, Danielle leaned back in her chair and kept one ear open in case Will woke up or Tom came back home. She wasn't entirely sure that he was _really_ going to resign as Minister for Magic, but she could always hope…

A low, musical cry sounded from the railing beside her, and Danielle's eyes flew open, nearly toppling her chair as she shot up at the sight of Fawkes perched on the rail with a mournful—or at least she imagined it as such—expression. Before her eyes, he plucked two feathers from his own coat, where they floated into her lap. As she reached out a hand to stroke him, he suddenly spread his wings and dove low back over the grounds, wheeling around the manor's property once before disappearing into the wide expanse of azure sky.

Some distant part of her understood that the phoenix was truly gone for good this time, and he would never come back now that his master was dead. Danielle felt a now-familiar sense of longing as she stared at the spot where he had disappeared, grieving yet another of her companions. She had no idea if phoenixes were truly immortal or not—legend had it that they were—and it made her heart hurt to think of him alone forever, lamenting Dumbledore for the rest of time.

When the thought became too much to bear, she moved her gaze down to the tabletop, where the two feathers he had left her fluttered slightly in the breeze. Danielle reached down to steady them, and just as her fingers brushed the feathers there was a small _pop_ and a brief flash of blue light, leaving two completely different objects in their place.

"Brilliant," Danielle breathed as she stared in awe at the Invisibility Cloak and Gaunt ring in front of her; of course Dumbledore would have made contingency plans in case he was attacked. But…her hand hovered over the ring; he had been killed by it, or at least that was what Kaltrina had claimed. She guessed that Dippet had stolen it from her when she wasn't paying attention, and perhaps Slytherin had placed a curse on it and that had been what killed Dumbledore.

Danielle reached into her robes and pulled out the Elder Wand, laying it gently on the table next to the Cloak and Stone. The three Deathly Hallows, together at last. But why had Dumbledore wanted the Cloak and Stone to be sent to her? Did he feel that he was doing her some kind of favour? Although Danielle was now their true master—or mistress—she couldn't help but wonder if they weren't meant to be separated after all. As long as the legend still continued to endure, there would be witches and wizards who would search for the Hallows, who would kill for the Hallows.

And suddenly, she understood what Dumbledore had wanted her to do. He had known that, some way or another, _she_ would become the Master of Death, not Tom. And he had known that she would be the only one who would go through with what he desired.

She would have to destroy the Gaunt ring in the process, but Danielle could see no other way around it. She certainly didn't know how to break the curse that had been placed on it, and Tom would surely see through what she was doing right away and refuse to help her. That left her no other choice.

Reluctantly standing up from her comfortable spot, Danielle headed back into the manor, where she checked to make sure that Will was still soundly asleep before slipping into her bedroom. She had kept the broken pieces of Tom's yew wand for reasons unknown even to her, and although she was certain he knew she still had it, he had never brought up the subject. Placing the fragments on the bed, Danielle reached for the Elder Wand and whispered, _"Reparo."_

With a blaze of golden light, Tom's original wand repaired itself, the cracks in the wood sealing themselves and the pieces snapping back together until it was whole again. Smiling to herself, Danielle pocketed it as well before going down to the kitchen to see Minnie.

"How are you feeling?" she asked the house-elf as kindly as she could. The wound in Minnie's side was still bandaged and she couldn't appear to move very fast, but she was still endeavouring to clean the manor all the same. Danielle knew she was forever indebted to her.

"Minnie is doing very well, thank you, miss!" the elf exclaimed happily, as cheerful as ever.

"Listen, I have to step out for a moment, so do you mind taking care of Will while I'm gone?" Danielle asked. "I won't be more than an hour, I promise."

Minnie nodded, bowing low to Danielle before rushing upstairs to stay with him. Danielle straightened up, her fingers caressing the ring and Elder Wand in her pocket. Some part of her wanted to keep the ring, just in case she was ever able to break the curse that now lay on it so she could see her family again, but another part knew that that was selfish—she'd already had a chance to see them, and it would only bring danger upon herself and Tom if anyone ever got wind that she still had possession of the Hallows.

When she had finally gathered up her resolve, Danielle took a deep breath and strode out of the manor before Disapparating to the only place where she knew they would be lost forever.

* * *

The Cliffs of Dover were brightly gleaming in the autumn light, the waves crashing against the rock. Danielle turned up the collar of her cloak against the bitter wind as she stood on the edge of the cliffs, staring down at the vast expanse of water below her. In one hand she clutched the Gaunt ring, and in the other she held the Elder Wand. She'd been vaguely expecting Tom to somehow figure out what she was planning to do and attempt to stop her, but she hadn't been pursued. Danielle expected that he would be busy at the Ministry for the next while, and silently thanked her lucky stars that he wouldn't know what she was doing until it was all over.

She held her engagement ring flat out in the palm of her hand for a moment, remembering when Tom had given it to her after presumably taking it off Morfin Gaunt's corpse. She shuddered with revulsion at the thought, and was suddenly all too glad to part with it as she finally tossed it over the edge of the cliff, watching as it grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared into the water below with barely a ripple. Several hopeful seagulls circled around the entry point, but it was too late: the ring, along with the Resurrection Stone, had already sunk to the bottom of the English Channel, where it would continue to erode over decades and decades, perhaps even centuries and centuries, until the currents would eventually wash it out into the ocean.

With a strange, unexplainable ache deep in her bones, Danielle turned her gaze to the Elder Wand, looking for all it was worth like just an ordinary wand, albeit with strange marks. She grasped it for another second, refusing to think about the allure of an "unbeatable wand"or the power she could wield with it. She did understand the yearning for power and strength, yes, but she wasn't like Tom: she wouldn't sacrifice everything for it, or even actively seek it out.

Thinking only of the long-term gain, for future generations of witches and wizards as well as herself, Danielle grasped both ends of the Elder Wand and snapped it in two pieces, just as Tom's wand had been snapped, so that she was left holding both ends of the once all-powerful object. She stared, dazed, down at it for several moments, almost unable to believe that she had actually done it, before taking a step away from the edge and tossing the broken pieces into the abyss, with her heart pounding frantically and the feeling that she had either done something very, very idiotic or very, very noble.

She didn't look back.

* * *

"So that's it, then?" Danielle asked Tom softly that night. It was just after twilight, that peculiar time when the sky was dark but it was still too early to go to bed. Minnie and Will were both asleep, and she was taking advantage of the momentary lull to speak to him before one of the two monopolized her attention. "You're no longer Minister for Magic?"

"Technically, no," he admitted, standing up from where he'd been working on his indecipherable mass of Ancient Runes and handing her the parchment. "But that does not mean I have lost all my…privileges."

"I'm sure you haven't," Danielle mumbled. She squared her shoulders and stared up at him as he stood over her, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. "Listen, I, er…I have something for you." Tearing her gaze from him, she reached into her pocket and drew out his fully repaired wand. She knew him well enough by now to note the look of almost imperceptible wonder on his face as he took it.

" _Clara,"_ he breathed. "Of course…you used the Elder Wand."

"Well, um, yeah," Danielle confessed, although his statement had been rhetorical. Clearing her throat nervously, she quickly added, "And I got rid of it along with the Resurrection Stone today. I thought it would be best, but I decided to keep the Invisibility Cloak—"

"Yes, I assumed you would eventually do that," he replied, not sounding in the least perturbed.

Danielle frowned. "You did? I thought you would be angry…didn't _you_ want the Hallows?"

"Perhaps I did once," Tom said, almost thoughtfully. "But I have come to the realization that I do not require the Hallows to be confident of my superiority."

"And some things never change," Danielle muttered to herself before raising her voice. "So…I take it that this means…well, what I mean to say is…are you going to make another Horcrux?"

She expected Tom to snap at her that it was none of her business, or to stride out of the room without saying a word; but he stayed still instead, with that same pensive look on his features. Perhaps he had changed more than she knew, Danielle realized. He was no longer the same Tom she had met, or even the same Tom he had been when they'd gotten married. She had been changed beyond belief, and so had he. Of course, they were still the same essential people, Clara Ashford and Tom Riddle, but they had evolved; matured in many ways.

"That remains to be seen," he said in a low voice, and her heart leapt. "Perhaps one day, if I feel the need…but as of now I do not wish to expend time and effort creating one again. I am…not as averse to the idea of death as I used to be, now that I have some idea of what it entails."

"Because you'll get to stay with me, right?" Danielle asked, and cringed as soon as she said it; she had attempted it as a joke, but it had sounded more serious than she had meant it to be. Or perhaps it _wasn't_ merely a joke.

"Yes, Clara," Tom said with more than a hint of irony to his tone. "That is the sole reason." But his eyes had softened, and she fell into his embrace, preparing to question him even more, but he correctly guessed what her next question was going to be and dodged the figurative spell, instead pointing to the piece of parchment she had barely glanced at and explaining, "I believe that is the formula to send a spirit into the next realm. When I was at Hogwarts—or rather the castle inside the Horcrux, I went searching through the classrooms and saw that some runes I did not recognize were written on the blackboards. It did not take much effort to combine them with existing ones; the reason why ghosts cannot move on, so to speak, is simply that the runes needed for the appropriate spell only exist in that world. But," he finished with a truly wicked smirk, "I brought them back to this one."

"Merlin, Tom," Danielle breathed, staring down at the parchment. "You're bloody _brilliant_." Without consciously pondering it, without feeling uncertain as she might once have done, she pulled his face down to hers and pressed her lips fiercely against his, tangling her fingers in his hair as he responded in kind and drew her even closer, his arms crushing her to him and for once seeming just as eager as she was.

It was, she dimly thought, a good thing that Will and Minnie were both taken care of, because it didn't look like either of them would be leaving their bedroom for the rest of the evening.


	44. The Penultimate Problem

Brilliantly coloured leaves littered the grounds of the manor, leaving the trees bare and forlorn, as a mid-October storm ripped through the country's east coast, sending torrents of rain—and leaves—down onto the countryside. When Danielle arrived home that day after spending the morning at Black Manor, Will in her arms as usual, she sighed as she surveyed the destruction on the grounds, knowing that she couldn't ask Minnie to do all the work. She had a lot of cleaning up to do once the storm passed.

But cleaning was not on the forefront of her mind at the moment as she hurried inside and up the staircase to the library. It was on much more important things. She had been agonizing over when to tell Tom for the longest time, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hide her secret for much longer. It was a day for confessions, and Tom appeared to be in a relatively good mood, so today seemed as good a day as any to tell him.

He was sitting in front of a stack of books as usual, the window cracked open and a slight breeze blowing into the room. For once, he looked the picture of ease, his legs crossed in front of him and his dark hair falling over his face. Danielle was almost hesitant to disturb him.

"Interesting read?" she asked him, sitting gingerly on the chair beside him and balancing Will on her lap.

He glanced over at her almost immediately, looking lazily amused. "As if you care," he chided mildly, but put down the book anyway and angled his body toward her. "What is it now, Clara?"

"I was just at Alyssa and Alphard's," she told him, although of course he already knew exactly where she'd been. "Dylan and Felicity were there too. I…I told them everything."

He raised an eyebrow. "About what?" But there was no question in his voice.

"Everything. Me," Danielle said, unable to suppress her self-deprecating tone. "I figured it was about time I told them. They've been my best friends for five years, and I can't lie to them anymore. But," she quickly added, seeing Tom's narrowed eyes, "I didn't tell them about the curse, or Voldemort. That's not my story to tell. They just think that I happened to fall in love with a particularly mysterious and difficult man."

Once, Tom would have been furious. Once, he would have demanded that she apologize to him before Apparating over to Black Manor to administer Memory Charms on everyone. Danielle still half-expected him to do the same now. But he didn't: he only stared calculatingly at her for a long moment before finally inclining his head. "It is your decision," he replied, with something like a sigh in his voice. "What did they say?"

"They were furious," Danielle admitted, grinning ruefully. "I think Lyssa was ready to curse me. But Dylan and Alphard were more open-minded. They said it explained a lot about me, and I think they were more relieved that I trusted them enough to finally tell them. I had a lot to answer for." She ran a hand through her curls, letting out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. "Merlin, at least that's over with."

"But that is not all," Tom prodded. "You have something else to tell me. You would not be so cautious if it was merely that."

Danielle's eyes flickered over to his, and she silently cursed him for being so perceptive. "Yes," she said. "You're right. I—" But her attention was caught by Will, who was leaning across the gap that separated their two chairs and reaching over for Tom, his blue eyes large and beseeching as he stared up at his father.

"Take him," Danielle instructed, and to her shock Tom obliged, pulling Will over to his lap and keeping one hand on his back so he wouldn't fall over. Giggling happily, the eight-month-old grabbed Tom's tie and began to play with it, ecstatic at finally winning over his father. Danielle thought she saw something almost like the beginnings of affection in Tom's eyes, and had to resist the urge to kiss him senseless. "So," she continued, as if something so simple but monumental hadn't just occurred between Tom and his son, "What I was going to tell you was…well…it's kind of a funny story, really, but I…I just want you to try and hear me out, all right?"

His expression turned guarded, suspicions set into his features at her words. _"Clara…"_ he nearly growled, the word hovering in the air between them.

"All right," Danielle said resignedly, and closed her eyes so she wouldn't be able to see his reaction. "I'm pregnant," she blurted out. "Again."

At first, the prolonged silence from him was slightly comforting, as it meant that at least he wasn't going to explode. But after a minute—two minutes—passed by with seemingly no sign of an answer, she cracked open one eye to see that his expression hadn't changed, aside from a whitening of his face and a sudden tight grip on Will, who appeared to be oblivious to the conversation.

Since it was clear that Tom wasn't about to speak anytime soon, Danielle hastened to explain herself. "When we were in Russia, Nora kept telling me that I should take care of myself, although I wasn't technically ill. But I didn't really think much of it until recently. I've been feeling a bit strange lately, but nothing like what it was when I was pregnant with Will. I went to St Mungo's the other day, and Wainscott told me that I'm two months pregnant. It—the baby was conceived when we were in 2011. I hadn't brought any contraceptive potions with me, and it only took one time…But don't you see, Tom?" she asked hurriedly, noticing that his face was still impassive. "I'm fine. In fact, I'm feeling even better than I normally am. This child doesn't carry the curse. I'll have a normal pregnancy and a normal birth."

"Another baby," Tom finally said, albeit through gritted teeth. "I suppose I should have foreseen this earlier. I should have known that you hadn't brought the potions along with you."

"Well," answered Danielle, slightly hurt, "I wasn't thinking clearly at the time. Listen…I don't necessarily want to have another child, either, but I'm not going to get rid of it any more than I was going to get rid of Will. We certainly have enough room for another baby, and we can afford it…"

"Do not push your luck, Clara," Tom warned. "I have been offered a job researching various Dark artifacts, and it will almost certainly entail extensive travelling. You cannot bring two children along with you. One, perhaps, but no more than that."

"Or," Danielle added, bolstered by his reluctant acceptance—perhaps he had even suspected it himself all along—"You can wait until they turn eleven and go off to Hogwarts. You might have to wait a bit longer than that, though, since I want four children. We're only halfway done."

Had he been thinking logically, Tom would have realized immediately that she was joking. But he was still so annoyed over this most recent discovery that the joke flew right over his head. "If that is the case, I refuse to—"

"Fine," Danielle teased, knowing she was pushing her luck. "We'll compromise on three, then." She still wasn't serious at this point, but she couldn't help to cast her mind back to the image she'd seen in the Department of Mysteries: her, Tom and Will with two dark-haired girls. "But I know you'll be fine," she said in a lower voice, nodding at Will. "You don't hate your son, as much as you pretend you do. You can't despise another one of your children."

He didn't look convinced. "As long as they prove they are worthy of it, which I daresay will not be for decades yet."

"There's the spirit," Danielle encouraged. She made to stand up, but Tom's arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her back into her chair. "You are remarkably calm about this," he observed. "Why are you so optimistic when you know that I am not going to be the father you wish I could be? Fate did not intend me to be a parent, Clara."

"Fate?" Danielle scoffed as she leaned over and rested her head on Tom's shoulder, briefly pressing her lips to his jaw before smiling tenderly down at him and Will. "It's nothing but an illusion."


	45. Epilogue: Fifteen Years Later

_**September 1, 1962** _

The bright scarlet of the Hogwarts Express seemed to gleam even more brilliantly than usual in the hazy, early-autumn air. Indistinct, blurred figures darted frantically across the platform, scrambling to leap onto the train or stow away their luggage.

Danielle kept a light hand on her youngest daughter's arm as she steered her towards a quieter, smoke-free corner where Tom and Will were already standing. From this distance, they could pass for brothers—both tall, pale, and dark-haired—but as Danielle and Eleanor drew closer their differences became more pronounced: Will was slighter than his father was, now, and the small but noticeable streak of grey in Tom's hair could no longer be ignored.

"Has Cathy run off again?" Danielle asked with a slight grimace, seeing that her other daughter had disappeared.

Will nodded, his slim hands absent-mindedly playing with the brand-new Prefect badge shining on his Ravenclaw robes; he had predictably already changed into his school uniform. "She's talking to Jasper Hornby," he said quietly, glancing over at a spot some feet away where Cathy, her hair tied up in an elegant bun, was speaking enthusiastically with a white-haired boy who was gazing down at her keenly.

Danielle heard Tom give his customary sigh of exasperation, as familiar to her now as her own voice. "Catherine," he instructed, his word cutting easily through the air. "The train leaves in five minutes." It was not a statement, but an order.

Even from her vantage point, Danielle could see Cathy roll her eyes. She said something under her breath to Jasper, who laughed before melting into the crowd. Cathy grudgingly walked over to them, her expression sullen. "We were just talking," she said, her grey eyes slightly narrowed. "He's coming back for an extra year, and since we're both in Slytherin—"

Will muttered something that sounded like "How convenient." Cathy immediately rounded on him, hands on her hips.

"Just because _you_ would rather spend time with your precious books doesn't mean we all do—"

Danielle quickly stepped in before the argument could break out into a full-scale war. "You'll have to listen to your brother from now on," she teased gently. "He is a Prefect, after all."

"Lovely," Cathy huffed. "Eleanor will probably be one too and I'll be the odd one out."

"No, I don't want to be a Prefect!" Eleanor, who had been silent during the entire exchange, burst out. She shrugged out from under Danielle's arm and stared at them with the wide-eyed terror only first-years could achieve.

Danielle frowned at Cathy, who took this as her cue to leave and muttered, "Bye, Mother, Father." She hugged Danielle and smiled reluctantly at Tom, still seemingly annoyed at him for interrupting her conversation, before disappearing onto the train, presumably to find Jasper.

Danielle was about to comfort Eleanor when seven more figures appeared out of the mist, having just run through the barrier. Alyssa and Alphard were hand-in-hand as usual, Cepheus and Eridanus trailing behind them. Dylan had a protective arm around Felicity's shoulder, who was speaking earnestly to Pippa.

"All set?" Alyssa asked happily, gazing around at her two sons, one in Ravenclaw robes and the other in Hufflepuff robes. "I'm so relieved we'll get the manor to ourselves again," she muttered to Danielle, who laughed.

"Be careful what you wish for, Mum," Cepheus said darkly. He clapped Will on the shoulder, grinning widely at his best friend. "Ready, mate?"

Will nodded and turned to Tom, who instructed him to read as many books in the Prefects' common room as he could, before bidding Tom goodbye and allowing Danielle to kiss him on the cheek. She had to stretch up to hug him; he had eclipsed her in height years ago. "Take care of your sisters, all right?" she whispered in his ear, and he nodded, his face serious as ever. Cepheus gave them all a friendly wave before the two Ravenclaws hurried off to the train.

"Go after your cousin so he doesn't land himself into detention before the term even starts, won't you?" Dylan asked Pippa. Felicity elbowed him in the ribs, but she was smiling.

"Of course," Pippa said dryly. "The entire purpose of my life is to make sure Ceph doesn't get into trouble. It's not as if he doesn't have a twin or anything." She was in her robes as well, the crimson Gryffindor crest matching perfectly with her auburn hair. "Come on, Eri." She grabbed Eridanus and forcibly dragged him away, whose protests fell on deaf ears. Danielle was sure she was muttering jinxes under her breath as she walked away, certain that the boy she was following was not going to be Cepheus.

"On the way here Ceph got distracted by a Muggle girl," Alyssa muttered, but she sounded more resigned than disapproving. "She _was_ pretty, I'll give her that, but he needn't act as if his heart is broken every time a girl spurns his advances."

Danielle raised her eyebrows. "Did the girl's name happen to be Sylvia, by any chance?"

"How did you know?" Alyssa demanded.

"Er, lucky guess." Danielle fought to hide her smile. "Just give it a few more years, Lyssa."

"He'll be fine," Alphard chimed in, rubbing his wife's back comfortingly. "Will and Pippa'll straighten him out."

"Yes, but Will's always off in his own world and Pippa is hardly more well-behaved than Ceph…" Alyssa groaned.

While they playfully argued about the twins, and Dylan reassured Felicity that Pippa wouldn't try out again for the Quidditch team for the fourth year in a row, Danielle felt a hand tugging at her arm. She glanced down to see that Eleanor was looking more frightened than ever, her skin holding a slight tinge of green. "Mum, I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know it can be a bit daunting at first, but you'll love it," Danielle told her. "Don't worry about what House you'll be in. They're all equally important."

"But Gryffindors and Slytherins hate each other! What if I'm bullied for being in one of those Houses?" Eleanor's voice was rising in anxiety. Out of the corner of her eye, Danielle saw Alphard ready to join in with a witty comment, but she deflected it first.

"They won't. Your father _was_ briefly Minister for Magic, you know." Danielle said wryly. "Anyway, just look at your siblings. Will inherited Dad's brains and Cathy inherited Dad's looks."

Eleanor didn't look convinced. "But what have _I_ inherited?"

"My propensity for trouble," she answered dryly. "Good luck."

Tom smirked. Unfortunately, this still wasn't enough for Eleanor. "What if I start crying and everyone makes fun of me?" she asked, scuffing her shoes and staring down at the ground.

Tom shook his head, looking almost affectionate. "You are stronger than that," he said, and Eleanor's eyes lit up; it was rare that Tom gave compliments.

The train whistle blew loudly, and the last remaining students were jumping up onto it. After hugging the adults, Eleanor finally made to leave, but just as she turned around Danielle caught her by the wrist, saying softly, "I can assure you that you'll have the best time of your life at Hogwarts. But that's not to say it won't be difficult." She hesitated before continuing, "There were times there when I thought that I wouldn't be able to go on."

Eleanor looked astonished. "But did it work out for you, Mum?"

Danielle's hand automatically reached up to her throat, where she sometimes imagined her Time-Turner still rested. She met Tom's eyes, their gazes suspended over the short distance that separated them. "Yes," said Danielle, and for a moment it was as if two decades hadn't passed, and she was a teenage girl again staring at him for the first time. "I think it did."


End file.
